Blessed Are the Geeks
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: Emily Wall was an American transplant in England, obsessed with Star Wars and fed up with both her insane family and her unfamiliar new home country. She thought life couldn't get any stranger. Then the owl showed up... ON HOLD UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE!
1. Next Time Shoot the Owl

**Blessed Are the Geeks**

_By Kenya Starflight_

_Co-authored by Zachariasofborg_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my second foray into the Potterverse (after "The Stag and the Dragon"), but my first attempt at a straight-out, non-crossover Harry Potter fic. However, as Star Wars is my first love, it will still have influences in this fic, including and especially in the interests of the main character._

_The title of this fic was inspired by Matthew 5:5, which reads "Blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit the earth." I tweaked the wording, of course._

_This fic has been a long time in development, and I owe inspiration and ideas to many sources. The main contributor (aside from Rowling herself) is Zachariasofborg, who created the character of this story's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and donated many funny and wonderful ideas for scenes and jokes. It took some talking, but I finally talked him into allowing me to put his name up as co-author. (And even if he'd said no, I'd have done it anyway, being a couple thousand miles away and therefore far out of pummeling range. Insert evil grin here...)_

**Chapter I – Next Time Shoot the Owl**

I still wonder if things would have turned out differently if we'd just shut the dining room window before trying to play a game of Clue.

Or maybe not. Maybe I'd still be sitting here writing this dumb story of the craziest year of my life even if we'd shut the stupid window. They'd have gotten ahold of me somehow, I know it...

Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself…

I was just about to announce that Mrs. Peacock had done it in the ballroom with the revolver when the bird blundered through the window and crashed into the board, scattering pieces all over the floor. The four of us, being city kids who had never seen an uncaged or uncollared critter in our lives, just sat there and stared a few minutes while the bird flapped around clumsily, the draft of its wings blowing our cards all over the place. Finally it got to its feet and shook itself, dropping a few feathers in the process.

"Is that an owl?" Apollo finally asked.

"No, Dipstick, it's a duck!" Athena sniped at her twin brother, sticking out her tongue and twirling a finger around her ear.

"Shut up!" Apollo griped.

"You two can it," I barked. "Indy, go get Dad…"

"I wanna touch it!" Indy demanded, reaching out to grab the bird.

"Indy, don't!" I barked, slapping his sticky hand away. "Look at that thing's claws, it'll rip your fingers off…"

"Nuh-uh!" countered Athena. "Owls have never been known to attack humans! In fact, they're good for the environment – they help keep the mouse population under control…"

"Ask Dad if we can keep it!" begged Apollo. "That would be so cool, an owl for a pet!"

"You can't keep an owl as a pet, Dipstick!" screeched Athena. If you haven't guessed by now, Apollo has a second name in this household.

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the lesson on owls, Miss Animal Genius. No, we can't keep it, Dipstick…"

Indy chose that moment to lunge and make a grab for the owl. A musty-smelling wing whacked me in the face as the bird jumped back and flapped violently about the table for a minute. Athena screamed bloody murder, Apollo laughed, Indy made another grab, and I struggled to spit feathers out of my mouth.

Finally the owl had had enough, and it jumped out the window and took off as if it had been set on fire. I watched it go, wishing I'd thought to videotape this little incident. It would be solid proof that no living creature could remain in the same room with my annoying siblings for longer than thirty seconds and remain sane.

Indy stuck his lip out in an exaggerated pout. "I didn't even get to touch it…"

"Great, it wrecked the board," Apollo grumped.

"A real live owl!" gushed Athena. "That's so cool! This never would have happened back in Oakland…"

And the kids galloped off, still chattering about the event and leaving me to clean up after them. I sighed and collected scattered game pieces and dropped feathers, wondering why in the name of James Earl Jones did whatever god, Force, daemon, or other entity see fit to dump me into this lunatic asylum of a family.

Oh, you say I judge too harshly? Believe me, dear reader, you'd only have to spend half an hour – no, five minutes tops – around this family to know that this isn't so much a family as it is the Brady Bunch on Prozac.

First there's my engineer Dad, who I swear is the flesh-and-blood version of Dilbert, and my ditzy blond romance-novelist stepmom Matilda (honestly, who names their kid Matilda?). They claim theirs is a match made in heaven, but really, they get along about as well as oil and water. C'mon, it's saying something when they fight over the remote at night because one of them wants to watch "America's Next Top Model" and the other wants to watch "Stargate." What they saw in each other, I'll never know.

There's my only full brother, Jefferson, who's seventeen and a wannabe musician, though in reality he mostly just slinks around and raids the fridge when he's not off in his friends' garages banging on a drum set. Dad's still in denial about the music thing – he's convinced Jeff's going to college to be an engineer like dear old Dad, though I know for a fact Jeff would sooner chew off his own ears than be caught dead in a tie.

There's Matilda's two kids she brought with her – Hillary, who's sixteen, and Logan, who's my age. I share a room with the former, who's as blond and ditzy as her mother and obsessed with her clothes, and the latter mostly sits in front of the Playstation and grunts from time to time.

And as if that weren't enough, when Dad and Matilda got married, they decided it wasn't enough to just blend their families – they had to have more kids! (Nobel Prizes never figured big in either family.) So enter Athena and Apollo, nine-year-old twins who are way too hyper for their own good; Independence, seven and a cyclone of destruction; Egyptus, five years old and unusually wise for her years; and Kilenya, the baby. Don't ask me why the two of them suddenly went on a weird name kick – maybe the hormones went to Matilda's brain.

You might think things can't get any crazier? Think again. Three months ago Dad decided it would be a wonderful thing to take a transfer to Great Britain – expose his kids to some culture. So it was goodbye to California and all our friends there, and hello to the land where they speak weird English and drive on the wrong side of the road. Thanks for nothing, Dad.

And where do I fit into all this mess? Simple – I don't.

Dad says I look more like Mom than Jefferson does, which is a blessing since Jefferson would make an ugly girl. I don't remember her – she died when I was a baby – but in her pictures I can see that I got her black hair and strange gray eyes that look brown in certain lights. I'm also the only one in the family with ANY taste in movies and music – I mean, come on, _From Justin to Kelley? _Give me a break.

I wish we'd stayed in Oakland. I had friends there, and people at school didn't stare at me like I was some kind of freak. Matilda told me to give it time, but it was hard to be patient when people were whispering behind your back about the "weird Yank in the Star Trek shirt." (Star Wars, girls, STAR WARS, get it right!)

I tossed the feathers in the garbage, then went to put the lid on the box...

Strange. That envelope didn't come with the game. What was it doing in the game box?

I pulled out the envelope and had a look. Just mail. One of the brats probably threw it in the box trying to be helpful...

Wait... why was it addressed to me? I never got mail – not even from my friends back home in Oakland that promised to write to me every week without fail and never did. Shoving the game box aside, I reread the envelope:

_Emily Wall – North Half of Girls' Bedroom – 24 White Rd – Bradford, England_

Okaaaaaaayyyyy... one of my siblings playing a stupid joke. I mean, what normal person addresses an envelope like that? Besides, the thing didn't have a stamp or postmark, so it couldn't have come by regular post.

Curiousity got the better of me, and I took the envelope upstairs to peruse it in private.

The door to the bedroom I shared with my stepsister bears two signs, each designed to irk the other of us as much as possible. Hillary's reads "Headquarters of the Johnny Depp Fanclub – Nonmembers and Geeks Not Allowed." Mine reads "Darth Vader's Meditation Chamber – Trespassers Will Be Asphyxiated." She really hates my sign and has asked Dad to take it down before – I think it's because she has no idea what "asphyxiated" means.

I kicked open the door and go to my side of the room. The bedroom is partitioned exactly down the middle with a strip of duct tape across the floor and up the walls, dividing the room into strict territories that we dare not encroach on. Hillary's side is littered with clothes, some still in their shopping bags, and the walls are plastered with smirking, pouting boy-toys, most with their shirts open or off. Her bedcovers and other decor are in various shades of pink and aqua, and the top of her dresser is a mess of makeup containers, stacks of CDs by all her weird alternative bands, and stuffed animals. The inhabitant of this lair was currently sprawled on the bed, engaged in inane conversation on a cell phone with some bosom buddy or boy toy or whoever, I didn't care.

"Sock off my side," I told her, picking up the offending article and throwing it at her. Hey, I work hard to keep my side clean.

"Gross!" she complained. "Oh, not you, just my weird stepsister..." she tells whoever's on the phone. "You're lucky, you don't have to share your room with a total nerd..."

I sat down on my own bed, laying down on the TIE fighter blanket and scanning my half of the room – Star Wars posters, of course, and a good-sized collection of action figures and models and books dedicated to my passion. A huge _Phantom of the Opera _poster hangs over the head of my bed, and my own collection of CDs is stacked neatly on my bedside table, right next to my Boba Fett Unleashed statue – _RENT, Fleetwood Mac, West Side Story, Three Dog Night, 1776, Santana_, and other Broadway and '70s albums. In short, good music for a change.

I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. Weird paper, I'd never seen something like this before. Like old-time parchment almost. The words had been written in emerald-green ink in an old-fashioned type of handwriting. A glittering crest with a giant letter H served as a letterhead. I absorbed all these details before glancing over the text:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of _WITCHCRAFT _and _WIZARDRY

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Miss Wall,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

I reread the letter, just to be sure of what I was seeing. Then I crumpled it up in a ball and tossed it at the garbage can on Hillary's side of the room. It bounced off the rim and hit the floor, but it's not like another wad of paper on the floor was going to be noticed.

_Okay, Logan, nice try. I'm not stupid, you know, so don't pull this gag._

And I pulled my copy of _Darth Bane: Path of Destruction _out from under my pillow, found where I'd left off, and forgot entirely about the stupid prank letter. End of story.

Or so I thought...


	2. The Doorbell is Not a Toy, Mr Weasley

_NOTE: I should have specified this in the first chapter, my apologies... This fic takes place one year before the events of "Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone."_

**Chapter 2 – The Doorbell is Not a Toy, Mr. Weasley**

It would be two days before I thought about the weird letter again... and only because the sender had decided some follow-up was necessary.

It was a typical day in the Wall/Matthews residence. Dad was off in Cubicle Land trying to earn a buck (though I guess I should say pound or shilling or something like that now, though that seems really weird...). Matilda was locked up in her study trying to pen another chapter in her latest bodice-ripper. Hillary was supposed to be looking after Kilenya, but instead she'd dropped the kid on Jefferson while she tied up the phone. Jefferson, meanwhile, was giving the drama performance of a lifetime as he changed Kilenya's diaper. Logan was playing some kind of zombie game on the Playstation, Athena was trying to tie Apollo into a chair with an extension cord, Indy was methodically disemboweling a Beanie Baby unicorn, and I was trying to finish _Darth Bane _and, at the same time, trying to convince Egyptus that it would not be a good idea to use Matilda's hair dye on her Barbie doll. It was the last halfway normal moment of my life.

And then the doorbell rang. And rang again. And again.

"Kids, quit playing with the doorbell!" screeched Matilda through the study door.

"It's not us!" shouted Athena, now trying to gag Apollo with a strip of packing tape.

"Then someone go get it!" Matilda shouted back.

Whoever was on the other side of the door seemed to be having the time of his/her/their life, and the doorbell chimed like the bells of Notre Dame after someone let Quasimodo have about a gallon of caffeine.

"Jefferson, get the door," Hillary ordered.

"YOU get the door!" retorted Jefferson, holding Kilenya in one arm while he held the soiled diaper at arm's length with the other.

"I'm busy," came Hillary's reply. "Emily, get the door."

I sighed, stuck an envelope in the book to mark my place, and went to the door, opening it a crack. "Who is it?"

The man on the other side of the door glanced up sharply with a hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar look on his face, one finger still on the doorbell button. "Oh... em... hello, young lady. This is the Wall residence, isn't it?"

"Yes," I replied, looking him up and down. Tall and lanky, with red hair that seemed to be inching its way up his scalp and wire-rimmed glasses framing his blue eyes, he looked somewhat like a nerdy professor to me. He wore a long, patched overcoat, an angora sweater that looked as if moths had used it as a buffet some time ago, a pair of jeans that were more gray than blue, and bright purple galoshes. This last struck me as pretty weird – the last rainstorm had been a week ago – but I didn't think too much on it.

"Oh good, it's the right address, then," he grinned, checking a card in his hand. "Um... are your parents home, young lady?"

"Matilda, it's for you!" I shouted into the house.

Matilda shouted back something indecipherable.

"She'll be here in a minute," I told him.

"So Muggles address their parents by their first names... fascinating!" The man stuck out his hand. "Arthur Weasley, good to meet you," he gushed. "Who do I have the honor of addressing?"

"What's a Muggle?" I asked, ignoring the question.

"It's our term for... I'll explain in a moment."

"Who is it?" demanded Matilda, opening the door the rest of the way.

"Someone named Arthur Weasel," I replied.

"Weasley," Mr. Weasley corrected, extending a hand again. "Arthur Weasley. Good to meet you, Mrs. Wall. Are you Emily's mother?"

"Stepmom," I retorted.

"I see," Mr. Weasley noted. "Very well, then... may I come in?"

Matilda hesitated. "May I ask what business you have with..."

Apollo bolted out the door at that moment, still wrapped up in a bright orange extension cord and strips of packing tape shining on his cheeks as he charged howling around the front yard. Athena was close behind, clutching a red-bladed plastic lightsaber and screaming "Get back here, Dipstick, I need a Rebel captive!"

"Hey, that's mine!" I shouted, and I charged after the two monkeys intent on reclaiming my saber.

"Emily, get back here!" shouted Matilda.

"She's going to break my lightsaber!" I shot back.

And right on cue Athena tried to leap a small decorative fence to keep chasing her twin, caught her foot in it, and landed smack on her face. The blade of the lightsaber jammed into the ground and broke off at the hilt. Matilda screamed bloody murder and ran for a bawling Athena, fussing over her like she was a soldier shot in combat, while I scooped up my mutilated lightsaber.

"Oh, honey, it's okay, you're gonna be all right..." cooed Matilda, dabbing at a scratch on Athena's cheek with her jacket.

"Am I gonna need stitches?" blubbered Athena.

I rolled my eyes. If Hillary was the family Drama Queen, Athena was at least Drama Princess. She could turn a touch of the flu into cancer – and worse, Matilda would swallow the performance whole every time. I'd long since stopped trying to protest over these little shows, as it only got me into trouble. But I couldn't help but mourn the demise of my lightsaber...

"I'm sorry," Mr. Weasley said in a small, nervous voice, "but did I come at a bad time?"

"If you wait for a good time, you'll be waiting forever," I grumbled, sticking the pieces of my saber under my arm and heading for the house.

"Young lady, may I?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"Huh? Oh, this?" I held up the broken saber.

"Yes... what did you call that? A fight-saver?" He took the pieces and tried to fit them back together, his forehead creased with concentration. "Fascinating... how does this work... never heard of a round plastic blade being used as a weapon before..."

By this time I was wondering if Mr. Weasley was flying with a whole squadron, if you get my meaning. "It's a toy," I told him. "But boy, if I had a real one..."

Matilda came back at that moment, holding a sobbing Athena in her arms, a scowling Apollo at her heels. "I'm sorry, sir, for keeping you waiting," she said with one of her big, fakey-stupid grins. "Life is never dull around here."

"I know the feeling," Mr. Weasley said with a smile. "I have seven of them of my own, though thank heavens most of them are past this age." He nodded toward the house. "May I have a word, ma'am?"

"Sure," she replied.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn't too thrilled about having Mr. Weasley in the house. Something about him tripped that little "weirdo alert" in me. I'd met some thick people before on both sides of the Atlantic, but thinking a plastic lightsaber was a real weapon? No one was THAT dumb. Though it wasn't just that. It was just... something I couldn't describe, really. A premonition, an instinct...

A gutted Beanie Baby unicorn flew through the air and smacked Mr. Weasley a good one upside the right cheek.

"Independence Wall, you apologize right now!" ordered Matilda.

"Sorry," Indy said distractedly, his attentions now focused on prying the head off an action figure.

"Indy, no!" I barked, grabbing my Boba Fett Unleashed out of his hands. "You don't mess with the Fett! Or any of my stuff!"

"How come you never let anyone play with your toys?" whined Indy.

"Because you just rip 'em apart," I retorted. "What were you doing in my room anyway?"

"It's not just your room," Apollo informed me.

"Shut up, Dipstick."

"Emily, apologize," ordered Matilda. She's very big on mandatory on-the-spot apologies.

"Matilda, everyone calls him Dipstick! YOU call him Dipstick! What's so bad about me calling him that?"

"Apologize for the 'shut up' comment," she clarified.

"Sorry for telling you to shut up," I grated out through clenched teeth. "Hillary, why don't you ever shut the door?"

"It gets stuffy in there!" Hillary protested as she hung up the phone. "What am I supposed to do, suffocate?"

"This happens all the time, Matilda," I told her, holding up the Fett figure and pointing at my lightsaber, still in Mr. Weasley's possession. "They come into my room..." Apollo made to say something here but shut up when I glared at him. "...my SIDE of the room, and they steal my stuff and break it or tear it up! Why can't I get a locking cabinet or something for it..."

"Why do you have all those toys when you don't play with them?" demanded Athena, finally stopping her blubbering.

"It's my collection!" I retorted. "What's wrong with a collection?"

"Hillary, please keep your door closed when you're not in the room," Matilda told her daughter. "Independence and Athena, please be more respectful of Emily's possessions. And Emily, please learn to share with your siblings."

"Matilda, my collection's for display only..."

"Emily..." She sighed. "Please just compromise on this. They're just toys."

_JUST toys? _I wanted to scream, but I kept my mouth shut.

Mr. Weasley coughed into his fist, trying to get Matilda's attention.

"Oh sir, I'm so sorry!" she said hurriedly, setting Athena down and shooing her away. "Please sit down, I'll get you something to drink..."

"You're too kind, ma'am," he told her, having a seat in an armchair in the living room. He spotted Logan's game and stared, transfixed, at the screen, his eyes wide and dancing as they followed the characters of Logan's gut-slasher game. Logan didn't seem to notice he'd acquired a spectator, just continued to work his thumbs while the rest of him sat inert. I flopped down on the couch behind him, picked up _Darth Bane_ again, and picked up where I'd left off. Matilda sat down next to me and turned to Mr. Weasley.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked.

"Delighted to be here, really delighted," Mr. Weasley said, prying his eyes away from the screen. "You're American? The accent's a giveaway."

"Yes, we moved here three months ago," she replied. "Why, is there a problem? Are you here from the government?"

"Not precisely," he replied. "Actually, I'm just here to take your daughter shopping."

Matilda blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Shopping for school supplies," he continued. "She's going to need help purchasing all the materials she needs, I'm sure."

Okay, weirdo alarm dying down, CREEP alarm going off. Who goes around telling complete strangers they're going to take their kids school shopping?

"Sir, I have no idea what you're talking about," Matilda told him, "and if you don't leave this house in ten seconds I'm calling the police."

His eyes widened at that. "Ma'am, please understand, your daughter MUST be prepared for school. Hogwarts is a high-end institution, you know, and..."

"Wait, Hogwarts?" Matilda repeated. "Is that some kind of academy? Because this must be a mistake, all our children are signed up to attend public schools here..."

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Mr. Weasley repeated. "And your daughter is indeed enrolled. Of course, most young witches and wizards are signed up the moment they're born, but seeing as your daughter only recently came here, we had to switch her records from the Salem Academy..."

Hogwarts... wait...

I pulled out the envelope I'd been using as a bookmark. Just as I thought, it was the envelope from the letter I'd gotten yesterday, the one addressed to the "north end of the girl's bedroom." And the return address was – you guessed it – from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Matilda informed him, and she motioned for Hillary to bring her the phone.

"It's the finest school of magic in Europe," Mr. Weasley went on, oblivious to the weird looks he was now getting from everyone in the family – except Logan, who wouldn't notice if you set him on fire while he was playing. "Possibly in the world. I studied there, my wife studied there, I have three children attending now and two more enrolled..."

"Did he hit his head on the way in?" asked Hillary, handing her mom the phone.

Mr. Weasley frowned. "Did your daughter not receive an owl, Mrs. Wall?"

"A what?"

"An owl. Owls deliver the mail in our world..."

"An owl flew through the window yesterday!" Apollo exclaimed. "It was huge! It wrecked our game, though..."

I held up the envelope. "So YOU sent this!"

Matilda snatched the envelope out of my hands and inspected it. "Hogwarts School of... Emily, how long have you had this?"

"I found it yesterday while picking up the game," I told her. "I threw the letter away, it was a load of crap..."

"I see now," Mr. Weasley noted, nodding. "This is often the reaction when a child from a family of Muggles – that's a term for non-magic humans – receives his or her Hogwarts letter. My apologies, I thought you knew..." He straightened his glasses and fixed me with a penetrating look. "Emily Wall, have you ever gotten the feeling that you were... different?"

I arched an eyebrow – Dad told me I looked a lot like Mom when I did that. "I'm a Star Wars geek stuck in the nuthouse. I've always had that feeling."

"Star Wars geek?" he inquired, arching an eyebrow of his own. "A Muggle term, I suppose... but I digress..." He cleared his throat and continued. "Have things ever happened while you were frightened or angry? Things you couldn't explain?"

I had to think about that... and as I did, strange memories began to surface...

...of seeing two boys on the playground shoving a hapless nerd against a tree and demanding his lunch money, spotting them from my vantage point on the monkey bars and growling my rage... and laughing in satisfaction when a particularly heavy branch fell down and walloped both of them...

...of not being able to explain to Dad just how my Micro Machine Millennium Falcon had gotten wedged up Hillary's nostril after a vicious fight over whether Michael Crawford or Kid Rock was the better musician...

...of watching _Return of the Jedi _for the first time and freaking out during the climatic Force-lighting scene... and gaping in horror as the TV gasped and died in a shower of sparks...

...and most notably of a horrible, tearing sense of loss and a splitting scream, feeling the exact moment the speeding car had taken my mother's life even though I'd been miles away at the time... of a two-year-old girl knowing, long before her father got the call from the police, that she would never see her mother again...

Mr. Weasley nodded. "You see? You're not an ordinary child, Emily. You're a witch."

My jaw dropped.

"A witch?" Matilda demanded. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Can we get a black cat?" chimed in Apollo. "Now that she's a witch, let's get a cat!"

"No pets allowed, Dipstick," Jefferson told him. "Dad's allergic."

"Aw, man!"

"Sir, I don't know what you're trying to pull," Matilda said sternly, now obviously upset that this weirdo had come in and given her perfectly ordered (to her) life a brisk stir. "But I don't appreciate being made the butt of a joke like this..."

He sighed and held up the lightsaber. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order?" He held the two pieces together with one hand and pulled a stick out of his pocket with the other hand. Tapping the stick to the saber, he muttered _"Repairo" _and handed the saber back to me.

I took the pieces from him... no, not pieces. The saber was one piece now. The blade had been fastened securely to the hilt again, as if it had never come apart.

_Magic..._

Egyptus gaped. Then she picked up the Beanie Baby unicorn, thrust it in Mr. Weasley's face, and demanded "Do it again!"

He chuckled – come on, who could resist the charms of a cute five-year-old? – and took the unicorn from her. He examined the toy a few minutes, muttering something about a shabby imitation, then waved his wand again. Instantly the pellets that had filled the thing skittered across the floor toward Mr. Weasley, flying upward and pouring back into the toy and the rift in its belly closing. Egyptus clapped and cheered as he proudly handed the unicorn back to her.

Matilda looked ready to pass out.

"Do it again!" chimed in Indy, now proffering a toy Ferrari that looked like it had been in a demolition derby.

Mr. Weasley was having the time of his life now, and he kept repairing the toys the kids kept handing him with a wide grin on his face, obviously enjoying himself. Even Logan was impressed, though he lost some enthusiasm when Mr. Weasley admitted to having no idea how to fix a broken PS2 controller – "though it is a clever device, really, I'd love to dissect it and see how it operates..."

And me? Let's just say if I'd gone any greener with envy, I would have impressed Kermit the Frog. As Mr. Weasley waved his wand around and reattached doll heads, uncrushed Hot Wheels, and mended book pages, all I could think of was "I've GOT to get me one of those!"

Matilda finally called it quits when Jefferson took back his newly repaired lucky drumsticks. "I'm sure the man's exhausted and tired of us," she said in a voice that she probably intended to be cheerful and placatory but came out sounding rather strained and half-hysterical. "Let's not keep him any longer..."

The door opened, and Dad walked in. "Hello, gang, I'm home..."

"Dad, this guy's a WIZARD!" gushed Indy.

"Can we get a black cat now that Emily's a witch?" demanded Apollo.

"Look, he fixed Elmo!" squealed Egyptus.

"He can do magic, and Emily's gonna go to school and learn too!" exclaimed Athena.

"Let's call the cops, Dad, this guy's nuts," Hillary complained.

Dad absorbed everyone's comments, then turned to Matilda. "Um... honey, what did I miss?"

_Break..._

"I thought it was a stupid joke," I finished lamely, pushing the crumpled letter Dad had rescued from the garbage can toward Mr. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley nodded. "It's understandable, young lady. We get this a lot with Muggle-born students who just start out. That's why the Ministry of Magic sends wizards to their homes on occasion..."

"She's not going," Dad said sternly, folding his arms and giving Mr. Weasley a cold glare from across the kitchen table.

"Mr. Wall, I understand that you might find it hard to part with your daughter for nine months out of the year," Mr. Weasley acknowledged. "But please consider what is best for her..."

"I am considering what's best for her. And what's best for her is to stay here, with her family. Not in some school of magic where the kids are all going to see her as a freak."

By now it was getting late, and Matilda was busy trying to wrangle the younger kids into bed. Jefferson and Hillary were out for the evening, Jefferson at band practice and Hillary off partying with another boy-toy. At the moment it was just me, Dad, and Mr. Weasley discussing the course of my life – or rather, the two men arguing over whether I was going to be raised witch or Muggle for the next seven years.

"That's quite a valid concern," Mr. Weasley acknowledged. "But Hogwarts accepts hundreds of Muggle-born students. Your daughter certainly won't be the only one..."

"But I'll bet she'll be the only American there," Dad retorted. "And I doubt the other girls, Muggle or not, are going to share her interests. The best thing for her is to be in an environment she's familiar with and with people she knows she can trust. Especially during this time of her life..."

"The Hogwarts professors are sensitive to the students' needs," Mr. Weasley retorted. "And it isn't as if she won't be allowed to contact you or visit. You'll have Christmas and summer holidays, and letters are perfectly permissible and even encouraged..."

"My daughter's not going to your school, and that's final," Dad said coolly. "Now pack up your magic stick and get the hell out of my house, Mr. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley's face lit up with a sly smile. "As you wish."

And there was a huge CRACK, like a stormtrooper's blaster going off... and Mr. Weasley was gone. Dad's jaw dropped, and he leaned over the table and moved his hand over the spot where the wizard had been a few minutes ago.

"Nice going, Dad," I complained.

"What?" He gave me a blank look.

"You chased him off."

"Emily, I'm just doing what's best..."

"Isn't anyone around here going to ask what I want instead of deciding for me?" I demanded.

"So you WANT to go?"

"Of course I do! Who wouldn't?"

He opened and shut his mouth a few times before he could answer. "But Emily..."

"Dad, admit it. I've never fit in with this family. And at the rate things are going, I never will either. The girls at the schools here think I'm some kind of Yankee freak, and that's not going to change anytime soon. And he's right – weird things happen sometimes when I'm worked up. Remember the flying tuna pie?"

That got a slight smile from him. "Yes... and the Eminem CD on the roof..."

"Exactly. Maybe, Dad, I'll find people like me at Hogwarts. Maybe I'll fit in there."

He sighed deeply. "Emily..."

"Remember when I went to that art camp?" I pressed. "You didn't want me to go, you thought I'd get picked on and that I wouldn't make any friends. And that was the best time of my life. This could be the same way. Maybe I'll go there and I'll find out that I really am a witch, and that there are other witches just like me."

"And if you don't?" He gave me a wary look. "If you go there and are disappointed?"

"If I don't like it, I can always come home," I replied. "I don't think they'll force me to stay there. Besides, you'll have one less kid to trip over every day – except for summers, I'll be here summers."

He opened his mouth to protest again.

"Dad, please," I begged. "I just want to fit in someplace. Maybe Hogwarts is the place."

He sighed again. "A trial run. We'll make this year a trial run. You go to Hogwarts, you study to be a witch, and you write home EVERY week. And if I hear Hogwarts isn't measuring up to your expectations or you're having problems with the students, we're bringing you home. Fair?"

"Sounds good."

He held up his hand. "Swear it on Darth Vader's mask."

That was serious business – Dad only reserved THAT oath for something monumental. But it wasn't like I had a choice. Besides, I was confident that Hogwarts would never be that bad.

"I swear on Darth Vader's mask that if I don't fit in at Hogwarts, I'll come home," I vowed, placing my hand against his.

"Sworn," Dad intoned.

"And witnessed," came Mr. Weasley's voice as he popped into the kitchen with another deafening CRACK.

Dad jumped three feet from his chair. "Give a man a heart attack..."

"Did you hear the whole thing?" I demanded.

"Just the last," he replied with a grin. "Now, I'm to understand you've had a change in heart, Mr. Wall?"

Dad eyed Mr. Weasley suspiciously. "If my daughter starts having problems at school, I want to know INSTANTLY. No ifs, ands, or buts."

Mr. Weasley nodded, eyes gleaming. "Very well then, now that that's settled..." He stood. "It's a bit late to go for your school supplies today, young lady, but we'll fit that in tomorrow, shall we?"

"School supplies?" I repeated. "You mean books?"

"Books, wand, cauldron, telescope, school robes, all of that," Mr. Weasley replied.

"Um... where do you get all that stuff?"

His eyes gleamed. "Diagon Alley."


	3. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

**Chapter 3 – O Brother, Where Art Thou?**

Dad insisted Jefferson accompany me and Mr. Weasley to Diagon Alley, whatever that place was. Apparently he didn't trust me alone in the company of the guy, and I can understand that – the world is full of weirdos these days. But still, he expected Jefferson to protect me in the event Mr. Weasley proved to be a complete creep? I didn't think so; Jefferson had all the muscle density of a starved ferret. Besides, all the wizard had to do was turn him into a toad or a rabbit or something if he tried getting in the way.

But it turns out we didn't have a thing to worry about… except me and Mr. Weasley keeping Jefferson from hurting himself.

"Here's money for school supplies," Dad told me early the next morning, handing me a wad of bank notes. "Hopefully that's enough. If there's some left over, you have my permission to get something extra, but please be reasonable."

I let Mr. Weasley play with one of the bank notes while I stuffed the rest in my fanny pack. "Fascinating, Muggle money."

"Are you saying the stores won't take these?" Dad asked.

"I'm afraid not, but don't fret," he replied. "She can exchange it at Gringott's. The wizards' bank," he clarified when Dad opened his mouth to ask.

"So where are we going again?" demanded Jefferson, slouching downstairs in his Green Day T-shirt and ripped jeans, looking like he was on his way to a dentist appointment or a court hearing.

"It's called Diagon Alley," Mr. Weasley replied. "A hidden street in London where wizards can do their shopping."

"Diagon Alley," I murmured… then had to grin. "Diagon Alley, diagonally. Cute."

"And how exactly are you going there?" demanded Matilda, who was still VERY unhappy over this entire affair. "You didn't bring a car, and please don't tell me you're walking the entire way…"

"Everything has been arranged," Mr. Weasley assured her. "I just pulled some strings with some friends of mine in the Floo Network…" His voice trailed off when he received blank stares from Dad, Matilda, Jefferson, and myself. "Erm, we'll be traveling by fireplace."

Dad turned toward the fire grate. We had yet to use the thing, as it had been spring when we'd moved here, but I assumed it was in working order. I could see Dad puzzling over just how Mr. Weasley intended us to get to London via the fireplace, though – I swear I saw the cogs turning in his head.

"It's a perfectly safe process," Mr. Weasley assured him, and he raised his wand and pointed at the fireplace. "_Flagrate!_"

Fire bloomed in the grate, to the ecstatic cheers of Athena and Apollo. Dad and Matilda about fell over.

"Cool," grunted Jefferson. "So how's that gonna get us to London?"

Mr. Weasley pulled a bag from his coat. "Just take a pinch of this, Emily… you too, Jefferson… hold tight until I tell you to…"

I dipped into the pouch and withdrew a fistful of greenish powder about the consistency of whole-grain flour. "What is this stuff?"

"Floo powder," Mr. Weasley replied. "Now here's how it works. I want you, Emily, to toss your powder into the fire and say in a very clear voice 'Diagon Alley.' Then, when the fire turns green, walk through it."

I didn't have time for any shock to register at his order, because Matilda decided to freak out on my behalf. "WHAT? You want her to WHAT?"

"Mrs. Wall, I assure you…" he began.

"What kind of a sicko are you!" she shrieked. "Do you get your kicks mutilating children? Do I have to call the police…"

"Honey, calm down!" Dad ordered, placing his hands on her shoulders. "This is magic, remember? And he did tell us it was safe…"

"I don't want her getting near the fireplace!" she retorted.

She shouldn't have said that. Because now I had no fear of going by Floo to Diagon Alley, if only because I knew it would bug Matilda to no end. I marched forward, flung in the powder, and spoke the words:

"Diagon…"

"IF YOU PUT ONE FOOT IN THAT FIRE, YOUNG LADY!!!"

"…Alley!"

And I held my breath and jumped into emerald-green flames.

Ooh, what a ride. Picture riding the freakiest roller coaster you can imagine, one with lots of loops and twists and hills. Now imagine riding it in the dark, with only brief flickerings of light now and again. Finally, imagine it's dark and there's a fire somewhere while you're riding this thing, so you're smelling smoke and inhaling cinders while also trying not to throw up. That's about how it feels to ride the Floo Network from Bradford to Diagon Alley.

I dunno how long it was before I crawled out of a fireplace at the end of the trip, but it was five minutes too late for my tastes.

"You all right, dearie?" someone asked me, and a long-nailed hand was thrust in my face as someone offered to help me up.

"Fine," I coughed, grabbing the hand and hauling myself to my feet. I took a moment to inspect myself thoroughly. Ugh, my favorite Boba Fett shirt was covered in soot. Note to self – wear something I don't care about (like the designer clothes Matilda loves to buy me) next time I travel by Floo.

Jefferson rolled out of the fireplace a few seconds later, hacking like a chain smoker and looking like a chimney sweep. And a few seconds after THAT, Mr. Weasley himself appeared out of thin air close by, not a speck of black on him.

"Okay, not fair," I grumbled. "How is it that you don't have to travel by Floo?"

"Because you won't learn to Apparate until your sixth year at Hogwarts," Mr. Weasley replied. "Not to worry, my dear, you get used to it." He flicked his wand, and the soot fell off our clothes and onto the ground.

"Oh, so these are Hogwarts students?" the lady who'd helped me up asked, grinning. She wore dark blue robes and a silver moon-shaped amulet, and she had a face that reminded me of an older Natalie Portman. The hand that had helped me up had several rings bearing star-shaped gemstones, while the other hand clutched a cage in which several electric-blue creatures were chittering and flitting about.

"Emily here is," Mr. Weasley replied. "Her brother is simply chaperoning. Emily, this is Aurora Sinistra, and she'll be your Astronomy Professor at Hogwarts."

"Pleasure to meet you," she told me. "I look forward to having you in my classes." She gave me a quizzical look. "You wouldn't happen to have a sister going into seventh year, would you?"

"Um… no," I replied. "I'm first in my family at Hogwarts."

"My apologies. I thought you must be related to Anastasia Wall from Ravenclaw…"

"What the hell are those?" gaped Jefferson, scrambling to his feet while gaping at the cage.

"Oh, these?" She lifted the cage. "Cornish pixies. I'm delivering them to a friend of mine. Don't touch them, they're devilish little…"

"OW!" screeched Jefferson, yanking his finger back. A tiny red semicircle of teeth marks pierced the pad of his index finger. I smirked, not feeling too sorry for him. Even Egyptus, who was twelve years younger than Jefferson, knew better than to try and stick a finger into the cage of an unfamiliar animal.

"See you at Hogwarts," I told Professor Sinistra.

"I shall look for you, dear," she told me before sweeping away.

I looked around. The Floo Network had taken us directly to a fireplace that, for all intents and purposes, seemed to have been built directly into an outside wall of a building. I could only assume that a lot of people came here by Floo and that store owners really didn't care to have people jumping out of the fireplace all the time. As for Diagon Alley itself… whoa. Everywhere I turned there were windows and tables and stalls displaying all sorts of apparent wizard's goods – cauldrons, telescopes, broomsticks, crystal balls, books, live critters, vats and bottles of what I could only assume were potion ingredients… owls hooted, people in colored robes buzzed from shop to shop, weird smells filled the air…

"Come now," Mr. Weasley told me, pulling me along as I gaped. "Got to get your money exchanged at Gringotts…"

Gringotts turned out to be a towering white marble building with bronze doors that was crawling with what looked to me like demented versions of Yoda. Goblins, Mr. Weasley explained, and the best at their jobs in his opinion. All the same, I was pretty relieved when he finally got my English money swapped out for wizard Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Those guys creeped me out… and they didn't seem to appreciate Jefferson's stares all that much.

"Now then, what's on your list, Emily?" asked Mr. Weasley. "I swear, I've done this five times, you'd think I would know by now…"

I flipped out the Hogwarts letter, which included a supply list and a big notice that first years couldn't bring broomsticks to school. Some stuff about robes and cloaks and protective gloves, a list of course books, cauldron, telescope, phials, scales, the option to bring a pet (though you were limited to three possible species)... and a wand.

It was that last item I was REALLY excited about. The thought of holding a wand, the thought of being able to chase off my annoying siblings whenever I wanted with a flick of the wrist, of turning Hillary's boy-toy posters to Spongebob Squarepants pinups... I could have some serious fun.

"Robes first," Mr. Weasley suggested, steering me into a shop whose sign declaredMadam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions "Jefferson and I'll nip over and get your telescope and cauldron and such while you're fitted. Then we'll see to your books and wand, all right?"

"Fine by me," I replied, feigning disinterest but secretly impatient to get the clothes out of the way so we could get my wand. "Keep Jeff out of trouble."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Jefferson as Mr. Weasley led him out.

It took awhile to get the robes pinned up and hemmed the right length, especially since five or six other kids my age, presumably Hogwarts students too, trooped in during my fitting demanding robes too. Most of them grinned when they saw me, but one or two gave me sort of sneering looks when they caught sight of my T-shirt and jeans under the robe, as if I were a vagrant that just staggered in off the street. What was their problem, anyway?

Mr. Weasley, Jefferson, and I met out in the street about half an hour later, me loaded down with three robes, a dorky pointed hat, a thick cloak, and some sweet-looking black dragonhide gloves that I was itching to try on, Mr. Weasley carrying a pewter cauldron filled with the other equipment on my list, and Jefferson, who literally looked blue in the face.

"What happened to you?" I asked, looking him up and down.

"Oh, just had a bit of an upset outside the Apothecary," Mr. Weasley said casually. "Nothing permanent – look, it's wearing off now..."

"That was awesome!" Jefferson gushed as he faded from sapphire to his usual pinky-tan. "Our band should get some of that stuff for our next gig, man! Oh, Emily, I tried to get you a self-stirring cauldron, they were cool, but Mr. Weasley wouldn't let me."

"Hogwarts regulations," Mr. Weasley replied. "They would have made you send it back home anyhow."

"Oh well, thanks for trying," I told Jefferson. "Can we go get my wand now?"

"Books first," insisted Mr. Weasley.

So it was off to Flourish and Blott's for all the standard textbooks for wizard students. Man, I could have had fun in this store given several hours and an unlimited cash store. Mr. Weasley had to drag me away from the interesting-looking volumes (including _Field Guide to the Dragons of Great Britian and Western Europe_) and point me in the direction of more mundane titles such as _The Standard Book of Spells _and _Magical Theory. _He did relent, though, and allow me to splurge on a copy of _Hogwarts, A History. _The tome was as thick as a phone book, but it looked to be a good read.

"That's more than I've ever read in my entire life!" Jefferson gaped.

"That's just sad," I retorted. "What else do we need?"

"Just one more volume," Mr. Weasley replied. "_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. _Do you have any in stock?"

The gentleman behind the counter gestured to a table to his right. "We have the standard Hogwarts edition and the recently-released Expanded Edition, sir. Also got an original 1927 edition in excellent condition signed by Newt Scamander himself, but I don't recommend that you let the young lady use it as a textbook."

"Expanded Edition?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Updated to include recently-discovered magical beasts, including the dwarf unicorn, the Bunyip, the Dragonkin, and the Hellhound."

"I'll take it," I replied, grabbing the silver-covered Expanded Edition from the table. Hey, the more info I could collect on the wizard world, the better.

"Very good," Mr. Weasley said as I forked over the Galleons to pay for the books. "Now off to find your wand..."

"Mr. Weasley."

Up until now, Mr. Weasley had been a fairly laid-back, easy-going (if insanely curious) guy. But now I watched his entire body tense as he turned to face the speaker.

The face of the wizard addressing Mr. Weasley could best be described as "aristocratic." It was the sort of face you'd expect to see on a Napoleonic portrait of some member of nobility, or maybe cast as one of the Imperials in the conference scene in _A New Hope._ I guess you could call him handsome, but the sneer on his lips made me rescind the "handsome" adjective almost immediately. His sleek blond hair went down past his shoulders, and his eyes were a clear gray. He carried a walking stick with a silver serpent's head, though this seemed to be more of a fashion statement than a walking or balance aid. And the look he gave the three of us suggested he'd just found us in a rat trap in his basement.

"So," he said smoothly, "shepherding more Mudbloods into Hogwarts to pollute the waters of wizard-dom, I see."

"Emily Wall is a witch," Mr. Weasley informed him tartly. "I am simply ensuring she comes to Hogwarts prepared..."

"If I were you, Mr. Weasley, I would cease this fraternizing with Muggles," the man interrupted. "It will only continue to drag down your status amongst wizards."

Jefferson howled, and everyone whirled to see him engaged in a brutal tug-of-war with a particularly nasty-looking book, with his arm being the object of dispute. The book, which was covered in what looked like reptile hide and had been locked up in an iron birdcage (presumably to protect patrons with more sense than Jefferson), had latched its toothy pages onto my brother's hand and seemed bound and determined to keep the limb despite Jefferson's violent objections. I felt torn between letting the book have some fun with the idiot and going to help him.

"Oh bother," moaned Mr. Weasley, raising his wand. "_Impedimentia!"_

A jet of red light struck the book, and it flipped over onto its spine, pages open. Jefferson jerked his hand back and nursed several cuts on his palm and wrist.

"Pathetic," the blond wizard noted. He turned to me, a slimy smile on his lips. "I would reconsider attending Hogwarts, young lady. As so helpfully evidenced by your Muggle brother, you never know what will spring up to bite you."

And he was off in a flourish of black cloak.

"Um..." I began.

"Pay no mind to Mr. Malfoy," Mr. Weasley informed me sharply. "Or any other wizard who claims to be better than you because he's pureblood. You're a witch and that's all that matters." He grumbled to himself as he examined and doctored Jefferson's wounds. "Why it bloody well matters anyway... isn't a wizard alive anymore that's more than half-blood anyhow..."

"He doesn't have kids in Hogwarts, does he?" I asked.

"One son, and he won't be entering until next year," Mr. Weasley answered. "You can count yourself lucky there, the boy's cut from the same cloth as his father."

Jefferson stared at the book, which by now seemed to have regained its senses and was rattling against the bars of its cage, snarling at him as if longing for another bite. "This place is getting weirder and weirder."

"Oh, and you've just barely scratched the surface of it, you two," Mr. Weasley said with a wide grin, his mood improving. "Come, we'll get Miss Wall's wand, then we'll splurge on some ice cream. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great!" I replied, my enthusiasm returning. I was finally getting my wand!

Mr. Weasley dropped me off in front of a shop marked Ollivander's while he and Jefferson went off on "other business." The place was narrow and pretty shabby-looking, the gold lettering of the store name wearing off and the windows in need of a good cleaning. Inside was pretty dusty, not to mention completely cluttered with stacks upon stacks of long narrow boxes that I could only assume contained wands. I saw no sign of a shopkeeper, so I decided to browse a little while I waited. Picking up one box, I opened it to find a fairly nondescript rod of reddish wood resting in a bed of cotton.

"Ten and a half inches, phoenix feather and cherry, springy, nice for charm work."

I dropped the box and whirled, finding myself face-to-face with a white-haired little man whose wide pale eyes gleamed as they inspected me from head to toe. I stared back, not knowing whether to apologize or just scream. This guy looked fairly creepy – I mean, I half-expected him to hunch over and start muttering "Precious" any second...

"I remember every wand I've ever made," he went on. "Every wand. But I'm not sure that one's suitable for you... so which is your wand arm?"

"Um... I'm right-handed..."

He whipped out a tape measure and proceeded to measure my arm. Then he measured my handspan, then my armspan, then my height, then the circumference of my head, until I almost asked if I was here to buy a wand or a new wardrobe.

"Every wand is unique, just as every owner is unique," he went on, shuffling around among the boxes. It took me a second to realize that he was no longer doing the measuring – the tape measure was moving on its own. "I use only the finest woods in the wands, and cores from only the finest specimens of creatures..."

"Cores?"

"Unicorn hair, phoenix feather, or dragon heartstring," he replied. "Now try this wand, if you will. Black walnut and unicorn hair, seven inches, slightly flexible, give it a try."

I waved the wand a bit, but he ripped it from my hands and gave me another, muttering something about rosewood and dragon heartstring... then grabbing it and giving me yet another.

"The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around," he explained. "Now try this one, holly and phoenix feather..."

That one didn't work either, and he offered me another, this one a bright copper color with a strange grain pattern that looked like scales. "Bloodwood and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, nice and supple, give it a go..."

I did – and as I swung it through the air a stream of sparks fountained from the end, as if I were holding a Fourth of July sparkler instead of a wand. Ollivander applauded.

"Very nice! I think you'll be quite pleased with that wand, young lady... now remember to treat it properly, wax it often, that'll be twenty Galleons..."

I was only too happy to pay the creepy old guy and get out of that place.

Mr. Weasley stood outside Ollivander's, a cage in his hand and a sheepish look on his face.

"What's up?" I asked him.

"Um... I stopped by the Owl Emporium to get this for you," he began, holding up the cage. Inside, a majestic-looking brown-and-white owl with black patches over its eyes gazed at me with half-lidded eyes, as if it had just been awakened from a nap.

"Wow," I breathed. "What kind is it? I've never seen one like this before."

"African marsh owl," he replied, handing me the cage. "But... ah... what I'm trying to say is that I seem to have lost your brother."

I looked up from the owl. "Oh crap. Where'd you last see him?"

"I think he may have gotten distracted by Gambol and Japes," he replied. "The joke shop..."

A bloodcurdling scream alerted us to his location at once, and he grabbed my school supplies and I grabbed my owl to investigate.

Jefferson staggered out of the Apothecary, howling and clawing at his cheeks. A lavender-bluish squid the size of a Chihuahua was latched to his face, completely covering his eyes and nose like some freakish mask, its tentacles wrapped around his scalp, ears, and cheekbones in a valiant effort to hang on. Passerby paused to watch and laugh or simply detoured around him – apparently sights like this weren't all that uncommon here.

"Get it off! Get it off!" he cried.

I fished around in my pocket for my wand. "Can I try?"

"You don't know the proper spells yet," Mr. Weasley told me, and he drew his own wand and gave it a flick. The squid disengaged from Jefferson's face with a wet sucking sound, sailed about twenty feet into the air, and landed with a moist plop at the feet of an elderly witch in maroon robes who screamed and jumped back as if it were a grenade.

The owner of the Apothecary came out of his shop, stooped, and picked up the squid in a dust pan, laughing quietly all the while.

"Um… do you want me to pay for that?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it," he assured me. "Squid happens."

I couldn't help it – I burst out laughing.

"Very funny," grumbled Jefferson. His face was covered in sucker marks and squid ink and slime, and he furiously wiped it with the hem of his T-shirt.

Now that my shopping was finally done, we could sit down and relax a moment at the ice cream parlor and enjoy a treat… and I could grill Mr. Weasley for information on Hogwarts. Jefferson had managed to drag his iPod with him, so he for the most part tuned out while Mr. Weasley listed most of my teachers' names (except the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who apparently hadn't been hired yet), praised Headmaster Dumbledore up and down, told me the basics of Quiddich, and explained the Hogwarts Houses to me.

"Once you reach Hogwarts you'll be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses," he told me. "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The House will be like your family away from home – you will share classes and dormitories with them, compete in the House Cup and Quiddich games with them, and generally befriend them."

"Do I get to pick my House?" I asked, shoveling a spoonful of chocolate-chip mint into my mouth.

"The Sorting Hat chooses your House," he replied. "It essentially looks inside your mind and heart and decided which House best fits your attributes. Gryffindors pride courage and honor, Hufflepuffs exemplify patience and fairness, Ravenclaws value intelligence and wit, and Slytherins glorify ambition and cunning."

Well, I guess I could count myself out of Hufflepuff – living with eight psycho siblings meant all sense of patience and fairness was pretty much shot.

"If it's not too presumptuous of me to ask," Mr. Weasley said after sipping his coffee, "what happened to your mother?"

Jefferson immediately jacked up the volume on his iPod. He'd been eight when Mom had died, and it had hit him pretty hard. He still didn't like to talk about it. I barely remembered her, so it wasn't so painful for me to talk about it.

"My parents divorced when I was a baby," I told him, stirring the remains of my ice cream into a puddle at the bottom of my bowl. "Mom wasn't really a motherly type, Dad says – she was kind of wild. Rode a motorcycle, had tattoos of all kinds, loved extreme sports. Really a risk-taker."

He laughed a little at that. "I've seen motorcycles before, amazing contraptions… knew a man who owned a flying one…" He shook his head a little. "Sorry, I got off track. So do you still see your mother a lot?"

"No," I replied. "She died." I raised my spoon and watched a blob of chocolate sauce ooze off the tip. "On my second birthday she was riding her Harley to Dad's house to drop off my present. Some jerk was driving way too fast and ran a red light… he plowed right into her." I lowered the spoon. "She died almost instantly."

"I'm so sorry, Emily," he told me.

I shrugged. "I don't remember her much, so it's not that big a deal. Dad was already dating Matilda by that time, so I guess you can say she's more a mother to me than my real mother."

"And yet you still insist she's your stepmother?"

I sighed. "I guess part of me doesn't want to forget Mom is all. Part of me wants to hold onto her, even if all I have of her is her looks."

We didn't speak as he finished his coffee and I polished off my ice cream. Then we left the parlor and headed back to the fireplace and the Floo ride home.


	4. Last Train Out From Looneyville

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: The entry for the Dragonkin species in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _was written by Zachariasofborg, and the Dragonkin species is his creation. I take no credit for either._

**Chapter 4 – Last Train Out From Looneyville**

The weeks leading up to my departure for Hogwarts were... eventful.

As predicted, Matilda had an absolute cow when I brought home the owl, going off on licenses for keeping the thing and how it was going to aggravate Dad's allergies (anything with fur or feathers makes him puff up like a Hutt). Dad insisted it wasn't a big deal as long as it stayed in my room, but the fee for the license to keep the bird would come out of my allowance. Ah well, small price to pay in my opinion.

Hillary had some pretty vocal complaints of her own regarding Ben Kenobi (what I eventually ended up naming the bird) sharing roomspace with her, and my younger siblings left off stealing and mutilating my Star Wars collection in favor of tormenting the owl by banging on his cage and yelling at him (he's not a parrot, kids, he's not going to talk back). Once I even came into the bedroom to find Indy sticking the BBQ tongs through the bars in an attempt to snag some of his tail feathers. I honestly do not know how poor Kenobi survived to the beginning of term.

On the plus side, he was really easy to take care of. I just had to open his cage and the bedroom window nightly to let him hunt, keep his water dish full and clean, and change the papers in the bottom of the cage. Mr. Weasley had bought a few bags of some kind of owl treats, but for the most part these were just occasional snacks or rewards for bringing the mail or leaving his castings (you know, those pellets they cough up with bones and other indigestible stuff in them) on Hillary's bed.

And yes, he did bring the mail – or at least my mail. My Star Wars Insider magazine and fantasy-themed catalogues no longer came through the mail slot with the rest of the family's snail-mail, but in the claws of Ben Kenobi (how he got them in the first place, I'm still not sure). And I found frequent letters from Mr. Weasley dropped on my pillow, inquiring about such diverse and thrilling topics as how vacuum cleaners worked and what was the purpose of a hood ornament on a car. I guess he figured that, so long as he had the address of a willing Muggle family, he might as well get what he could from it.

After about six such letters, a letter arrived from the same address – someplace called "the Burrow" – but written in a different hand:

_If Dad's getting too annoying for you, just give him something big and Muggle-related to boggle his mind for awhile. Trust me, it works. Mum got him to shut up for two weeks straight by asking him to find out where missing socks went in a Muggle washing machine._

_Fred Weasley_

_P.S. This letter will self-destruct in 3... 2... 1..._

And the letter burst into multi-colored confetti in my fingers. I had to admit, Mr. Weasley's son had style.

So I wrote a "helpful" letter to Mr. Weasley, giving him a complete plot synopsis of the entire Star Wars movie series and a brief overview of the Expanded Universe. That must have done the trick, because I didn't hear back from him for the rest of the summer.

It wasn't just my owl that attracted my siblings' attentions – three days after coming home from Diagon Alley, Matilda found Apollo using my wand as a baton while he pretended to be conducting the Spongebob Squarepants theme song. Though absolutely nothing happened (the wand wouldn't work for him), she freaked out and cornered my dad, and that evening he dragged a trunk up into my room and ordered me to pack all my magic items up in it. That was the first and last time I was ever grateful to one of the brats for messing with my stuff... and it also gave me a chance to conceal some of my more valuable collectibles along with my Hogwarts supplies.

While the rest of the siblings puttered around, killing time until the end of the summer holiday, I spent a lot of time in my room reading, eschewing _Darth Bane _in favor of _Hogwarts, A History _and _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. _You have to understand, when I read any book I don't just skim – by the time I'm done with a book, it's in worse shape than a pay-phone's directory book. I dog-ear pages I want to come back to, I highlight and underline passages that pique my fancy or make me ponder, I jot notes in the margins, and I've even been known to correct spelling errors or cross out passages I dislike. This is precisely the reason why Matilda never lets me read the books she's written – not because she thinks I'm too young for their content, but because the one time a copy of _Gothic Summer _fell into my hands I'd Xed out so many horrible passages the remaining text would have made a pamphlet.

One of the most heavily marked sections in _Hogwarts, A History _was the section detailing the four Houses of Hogwarts. By now I'd decided that, seeing as I hadn't the patience or sense of fairness of a Hufflepuff or the pure blood preferred by Slytherin, I would most likely end up in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. I also, for the pure fun of it, jotted down the names of the major Star Wars characters and tried to decide which Houses they belonged to. Darth Sidious in Slytherin was pretty much a gimmie, as was Luke and Leia in Gryffindor. Obi-wan and both Fetts struck me as Ravenclaws, Qui-gon and Yoda as Hufflepuffs. I couldn't decide whether to put Vader in Gryffindor or Slytherin, so I just put his name under both and decided I could cross one or the other out when I decided for sure.

As for _Fantastic Beasts... _well, if I'd had any clue that this many magic beasts actually existed, I'd have gone outside more often in my life. Not just your typical dragons and unicorns and centaurs, either – who'd ever heard of such creatures as Kneazles, Thestrals, Bowtruckles, Nifflers, and Puffskeins? I'd highlighted many of the creatures I wanted to see someday, including all the dragon species. Hey, dragons rock – even George Lucas stuck 'em in Star Wars, c'mon.

One entry in particular caught my eye – that of the Dragonkin. Partly because it was a draconian species, but mostly because it mentioned my home country. I perused the section several times:

_DRAGONKIN – XXXXX (This classification is given due to the fact that Dragonkin are not mindless beasts, but highly intelligent creatures) _

_**Physical Description:**_

_Dragonkin are just as the name would imply – what would appear at first glance to be a dragon crossed with a human. They are bipedal, range in height from six to seven feet tall, and sport scale colors in various shades of green, brown, blue and red. Their scales also have a resistance to weaker spells, but a more powerful spell, such as Stupefy, still has some effect on them. Their heads are framed by two large ear-like fins that stick out at an angle from the sideS of their heads, accompanied by two horns. They have large wings – the average span being about twenty feet – giving them great flight capability. Their arms and hands are almost identical to those of a human, excepting the fact that they have claws at the end of their fingers. Also, like their giant relatives, they have the ability to breathe fire. Many Dragonkin use a base magic to form these flames into spheres about the size of a Bludger, and then handle them as if they were a normal ball. These fireballs can be breathed or thrown with pin-point accuracy. _

_**History :**_

_Dragonkin are the most recently discovered magical creature on the planet; but how they kept themselves secluded for this long is an amazing feat. Native to the Americas, this species finally revealed itself to the wizarding community after apparently watching us and the rest of the world for centuries. With an average of one or two communities in each state, they cloaked themselves with complex magics, including Muggle and wizard repelling charms. They finally "allowed" themselves to be discovered by a wizard in Idaho, who, while hiking in the forest near his home in search of potion ingredients, suddenly found himself face to face with a young member of the species, the decided delegate from the nearest colony. He fainted immediately in shock. After being revived by the delegate, he asked the wizard to take him to the nearest wizarding government for introductions. Since that point, many talks have taken place between wizard and Dragonkin kind. Apparently, they decided that we were now "mature" enough to interact with their kind. _

_**Habitat and Society:**_

_Most Dragonkin communities are located in the dead center of large tracts of wilderness around the continents; climate is no matter to the species. All members of the Dragonkin species can harness magic, each, when they come of age at the age of twenty, crafting their own wand. Most Dragonkin dwellings are a patchwork of old and new techniques and styles, as the outside world learns new things, they use what is learned as needed. Technology is used by many Dragonkin, bought from Muggles while under various disguise charms, and then modified so they will be of further use to the Dragonkin. Most Dragonkin have a chance to learn much about the world over the course of their lives, as the average lifespan is three hundred years, though in some cases even longer. Clothing is a norm, usually designed after either current Muggle or Wizard fashion. The Dragonkin have an almost instinctual love for music of any kind, and nearly every member of the community can play one instrument or another with skill._

I'd highlighted the entire entry and scribbled a note in the margin – "Typical that I'd only find out about these things AFTER I've left the country, now I'll never see one."

A week before the start of term, Kenobi buzzed in through the bedroom window, dive-bombed Hillary and made her shriek and drop her glamor magazine, and dropped an envelope in my lap. Inside I found a train ticket for the Hogwarts Express, leaving at eleven AM on the first of September. This I handed over to Dad, figuring he'd know how to get me there.

"Platform Nine-and-three-quarters?" he read aloud, tilting the ticket on its side as if expecting the text to change. "Um... never heard of that. They really must do things differently in England..."

"I've been to King's Cross," Matilda said testily over proofreading her latest manuscript. "There is no Platform Nine-and-three-quarters."

I shrugged. "Maybe it's a test of some kind. You know, an entrance exam to get into Hogwarts."

"A mathematical riddle, huh?" Dad pulled a calculator out of his pocket and began punching numbers. "I'm good at these. Let's see what I can do with 9.75 here..."

"What's Daddy doing?" asked Egyptus, standing up on tiptoe to peer at the calculator.

"Trying to figure out where Platform Nine-and-three-quarters is," I replied, rolling my eyes. Trust Dad to expect their to be a logical answer to a magical question.

_Break..._

It was the night before the start of term at Hogwarts, and I was stuffing the last few items into my trunk. In the morning we would wake up bright and early, pile into the van, and take the three-and-a-half hour drive to London and King's Cross. Dad still hadn't figured out the riddle of Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, but I was pretty sure we'd find an answer at the train station.

Hillary was downstairs whining to Matilda and Dad, demanding to know why she had to go to the train station with everyone else and why couldn't she just stay home, so luckily I didn't have to deal with her as I packed to go. Instead, Egyptus was sitting on Hillary's bed, kicking her legs and clutching her Beanie Baby unicorn as she watched me toss socks into my trunk and agonize over which collectibles would come with me to Hogwarts and which would have to brave out the elements at home. It was a tough decision – I had to take my books and equipment, after all, and I could only sacrifice so many clothes...

"Where you going again?" asked Egyptus.

"Hogwarts," I replied, finally choosing Original Trilogy Collection Boba Fett over General Grievous Wheel Bike Transformer. "It's a magic school. I'm going to learn to be a witch."

"Oh."

I haven't talked much about Egyptus yet, but I have to admit that of all my half-siblings, she's probably the one I like the best. She's awfully smart for her age, and though no one in the family is as big a Star Wars fan as me, she likes the movies and will watch them with me without making snarky comments or screaming at the screen. And though I've caught her swiping my collectibles on occasion, I've yet to find any evidence that she was responsible for any mutilations, dismemberments, or other damages to my collection. If it wasn't for her fascination with the Disney princesses and all the accompanying frills and trappings, I'd make a geek out of her on the spot.

"Are you going to wear black?" she asked. "And a pointy hat? And ride a broom with a black cat?"

"No cat," I told her. "My school robes are black, but I saw witches wearing other colors in Diagon Alley. Not sure about the broom yet."

"Oh." She watched as I rolled up a Vader poster and tucked it into the trunk. "When will you be back?"

"I might be home for Christmas," I told her. "If not, next summer."

Her lower lip began to quiver. "That's a really long time!"

"Hey," I told her gently, "it won't be that long, kiddo. Trust me. You're starting school too this year, so you'll be really busy this year. And before you know it we'll both be home for summer."

"But who's gonna read me stories?" she asked petulantly. It was a nightly ritual for me to sneak into her bedroom at night and read her a chapter of whatever fantasy or sci-fi novel I happened to be reading at the time. While other kids grow up with the Bernstein Bears and Clifford the Big Red Dog, Egyptus much preferred Frodo Baggins and Ford Prefect.

"Maybe Dad can get you some audiobooks if you ask," I suggested.

She sniffed. "It won't be the same."

I got up from my trunk and went to the bed, giving Egyptus a giant hug. "I'll miss you too, Egyptus. But I'll still write. Tell you what – I'll write you a special letter every week, okay? I'll even have Kenobi drop it right on your bed in the morning. How does that sound?"

She smiled at that. "I'd like that. You gonna e-mail too?"

"I can't. The book says computers and other Muggle machines don't work on Hogwarts' grounds. But I'll write every week, remember."

She tried to put on a brave face. "Okay."

I went back to my bed, found my stuffed Chewbacca, and gave it to her. "And I'm giving you a special assignment," I told her in a solemn voice. "I'm charging you with keeping an eye on Chewie. Can you do that?"

She nodded and squeezed both him and the unicorn against her chest. "Okay."

Once I was sure I couldn't wedge another pair of socks or action figure into my trunk, I locked it up and shoved it against the foot of my bed. Then I opened the bedroom window and flipped open Kenobi's cage so he could hunt. Hopefully he'd stuff himself enough to satisfy himself for the trip.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?"

"You have to ask Dad."

"Okay." She slid off the bed and ran out.

I sighed and took one last, long look around my room before going to my dresser to change into pajamas. I had a feeling I was jumping off a cliff and into a lake without knowing how deep the water was. I just hoped I didn't break my neck in this venture.

_Break..._

Ah, yes, the car ride to the train station. The final few hours where I could visit with my family as a normal human being before boarding the Hogwarts Express and beginning my journey to witchification. The moments that would be my last impressions of my parents and siblings, the memories I would carry with me for the next nine months.

"Stop sticking your finger in my ear, Dipstick!"

"Scoot over, you're squashing me!"

"Am not!"

"Are so! You're sitting on my leg!"

"Okay, who spit on me!"

"Jeff, turn down your headphones! I can hear them from up here!"

"But Dad, I can't hear over the brats otherwise!"

"Mama, I have to go potty!"

"You should have gone before we left!"

"Emily, keep your stupid lightsaber on your own side!"

"It's not on your side!"

"It's totally poking me in the ribs!"

"Oh, I can't wait until I get back from Hogwarts so I can turn you into a chicken..."

"Kilenya's dropped a stinkbomb again!"

"Gimmie my Gameboy back!"

"It's my turn!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Okay, so there wouldn't be any cozy loving memories of my family from this road trip. Just the typical squabbling and screaming. By the time we got to King's Cross, loaded my trunk and Kenobi's cage onto a luggage trolley, pried Logan's Gameboy Advance out of Indy's paws, and changed Kilenya, I was more than willing to get on the train.

"There's Platform Nine," Dad noted. "And there's Platform Ten. So Platform Nine-and-three-quarters would be..." He counted the steps between the platforms, did a little math in his head, and picked a point about three-quarters of the way from Platform Nine to Platform Ten. "Should be here."

Matilda sighed. "There's nothing there. I told you this all had to be a sham..."

"Dad, do you expect there to be a logical answer when magic's involved?" I asked him.

"Emily, even magic needs to have some logic to it," he insisted. "Come on, stand here. Maybe you'll be teleported, or maybe a train will come that only you can see..."

I grudgingly pushed the trolley to that spot and waited. I tried closing my eyes, muttering different incantations I'd found in my school books, discreetly waving my wand, even clicking my heels together. Nothing.

"Where's the train?" asked Egyptus, looking around.

"Yeah, it leaves in fifteen minutes," Jefferson pointed out.

"If it's not here by eleven, we'll go home and send a letter to Mr. Weasley," Dad suggested. "Until then, let's just sit tight..."

I have to admit I was getting nervous by this time. No Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, no Hogwarts Express... was Matilda right, and this was all some colossal prank? Would some idiots with cameras jump out of nowhere and announce that we were the butt of a huge joke that would be aired on British TV? And worse, how had I managed to swallow this whole thing hook, line, and sinker?

"There's got to be other Hogwarts kids here," I muttered, refusing to believe I'd been played for a fool. "Someone look around for someone else with an owl..."

"Apollo, Athena, stop that right now!" screeched Matilda, trying to catch the twins as they sped by, Athena pushing a luggage trolley with her brother sitting on it. Apollo had spilled soda on himself during the car ride and was consequently shirtless, his chest and arms smeared with blue and purple marker stains. He waved at us as Athena pushed him along... or was dragged along, as it became apparent that she'd lost control of the trolley by now.

"Kids!" Dad snapped, lunging out to grab the trolley that was now hurtling at the dividing barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. He wasn't quite in time, and the twins looked to be bracing themselves for a collision...

No collision. They just vanished.

Matilda screamed.

Dad stared at the barrier, his mouth open like a yawning hippo. I turned to look at the other kids – Hillary and Jefferson were also gaping, and Indy and Egyptus were applauding and laughing. Kilenya and Logan gave no reaction, Kilenya being too young to understand what was going on and Logan being too absorbed with his game.

"Where are they?!" Matilda screamed. "My babies!"

"Honey, calm down..." Dad said soothingly.

At that instant Athena and Apollo emerged from the barrier again, minus cart, both wearing stunned expressions. Matilda burst into tears and hugged them tightly, almost smothering them.

"Oh, my babies!" she cried.

"Mom, leggo!" snapped Athena.

"Well?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"There's a lot of people in there," Apollo replied, wriggling out of Matilda's grasp. "And owls and cats and a big red train, and a big metal sign that says Platform Nine-and-three-quarters..."

I turned the trolley around and set off for the barrier.

"Emily?" Dad sounded very unsure.

"It's my platform, Dad," I told him. "And my train leaves pretty quick."

He hugged me close. "Be sure to write, okay?"

"I will."

"And let me know if you have any problems."

"Okay."

"I'll try to keep your collection out of your siblings' hands, okay?"

"I'd appreciate that."

"See ya, squirt," Jefferson told me, hooking an arm around my neck and giving me a noogie.

"I'll send you more of that blue powder if I can," I told him.

"Write me EVERY week!" Egyptus demanded.

"I won't forget," I told her.

And I pushed the trolley through the barrier.

A moment of darkness... and a gleaming red locomotive sat next to a packed platform, steam wafting around it as if it had just emerged from a swamp or the abyss. Kids pushed luggage carts around, adults in robes or street clothes hugged their children goodbye, owls complained to each other as their cages were hauled aboard, and a LOT of cats were underfoot as I made my way to the train. An empty trolley lay overturned next to a stack of suitcases, and a couple of kids were still staring at Apollo and Athena's vehicle with bemused expressions.

Right behind me a gaggle of kids burst through the barrier – siblings from the look of it, seeing as they all had red hair and freckles. There was something oddly familiar about their faces...

"Jolly good show, Fred! That stuffy Muggle lady'll never know what hit her when she opens her purse next..."

"Fred?" I turned to face the speakers.

The two kids standing behind me could have been clones, man – the only way I could tell them apart right now was that one of them was currently holding a paper bag in one hand. Upon seeing me the one with the bag flashed a big grin and bowed cheerily.

"You called me, ma'am?"

"You're Fred Weasley? The one who sent me that exploding letter this summer?"

"If you're Emily Wall, then I'm Fred Weasley," he replied. "If you're not Emily Wall, I'm just a dashing stranger."

"Yes, I'm Emily," I told him. I turned to face the other. "You?"

"George Weasley, glad to meet you."

"That lady you were talking about – did she have a load of kids with her?"

"Yes she did," Fred replied.

"I must say, I hope the bare-chested one opens her purse first," George put in.

"That was my stepmom."

The twins didn't look the slightest bit abashed. "We pity you, girl," was Fred's reply.

I laughed. "I like you two. Nice to meet you." I extended my hand. "What exactly did you put in her purse?"

"It's called a Dungbomb, milady," George replied, shaking my hand. "Just as the name implies, of course."

The two young men behind the twins rolled their eyes.

"Oh, and forgive us for not introducing our brothers!" Fred gestured behind him. "This is Charlie, he's Head Boy at Hogwarts."

"This is Percy." George pointed to the other boy. "Wants to be a prefect, and lets you know five times a day..."

"Oh, be quiet," Percy snapped.

The train whistle went off, and the twins quit talking and hauled their trunks on board. Once their luggage was stowed away, they helped me carry my trunk and Kenobi's cage. Percy and Charlie were left to haul their own luggage.

Fred, George, and I found a compartment and sat down as the Hogwarts Express set off. I leaned back in my seat, feeling about ready to wriggle out of my skin with excitement. Look out Hogwarts, an American geek is about to take you by storm!

I glanced out the window... just in time to see a cloaked form jog out onto the platform, dragging a suitcase and a long-haired striped cat tagging at its heels. The cloaked being stopped at the edge of the platform and stared after the departing train, intense green eyes staring out from the dark recesses of a hooded cloak.

_Weird. Who is that? And why would he want on the train?_


	5. Attack of the Clones All Over Again

**Chapter 5 -- Attack of the Clones All Over Again**

I don't know how long I just sat there in my seat on the Hogwart's Express, staring across the compartment at the red-headed clones who just stared back with expectant grins on their faces – the kind of that grins that said "We bet you'll never guess what we're up to" that I knew so well from my younger siblings. I wasn't sure whether to be amused by their demented smiles or disturbed.

"What?" I finally asked.

"Oh, nothing," Fred replied. "Lovely scenery, what?"

"What's with the hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar grins?" I asked.

"Just wondering how long it'll take for our little surprise to take affect," George replied, never losing his grin.

Right on cue a howl echoed down the corridor, followed by an enraged "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, FRED!"

George glowered at his twin. "How dare you?"

"How dare I what?"

"How dare you just sit there and take my credit? I was the one that planted the doxies in Percy's bookbag!"

"Very sorry, George. Not to worry, maybe he'll give you the credit when he finds out that…"

"GEORGE, YOU'RE NEXT ON MY LIST, DAMN YOU!"

"…that his school robes got laundered with Stinksap."

I couldn't help but snort a little in laughter. "Do you two get your kicks from torturing other people or what?"

"Not from torture," Fred countered. "We aren't sadistic, we just enjoy a good joke every now and again."

"And if we can brighten up other people's lives in the process, so much the better," George chimed in.

Something occurred to me right then. "Another question – what Houses are you guys in?"

"Gryffindor, both of us," Fred replied, beaming with pride.

"Why do you ask?" asked George.

"Just so I know to watch my back if I get put in Gryffindor."

"Ah, so you're a first year!" smiled Fred. "Welcome to Hogwarts, miss!"

"Thanks, but we're not even there yet."

"You know what we mean," grinned George.

After a few more minutes of silence, broken only by Percy's infuriated cries as he discovered more surprises in his luggage and other belongings, I pulled out _Darth Bane _to pass the time. Maybe I could finish this book before we got to Hogwarts…

"What's that?" asked Fred.

"Star Wars novel," I replied. "Pretty good one, too. Everyone talks about the Jedi all the time, but it's nice to see the Sith get some attention…"

"What's Star Wars?" asked George.

"And what are Jedi and Sith?" asked Fred.

I lowered the book just enough to give him my best dumbfounded look. I knew the wizarding world's customs had to be slightly different from ours. I knew they must rely on magic far more than technology – Mr. Weasley had been proof of that. I even figured that maybe the older generation of wizards might just be slightly ignorant of Muggle pop culture. But for two twelve-year-old boys to have never heard of Star Wars or the Jedi? THAT was inexcusable. I could forgive their ignorance of the Sith, as the term wasn't that widely used before the prequel movies came out. But everyone knew about the Jedi – the word had been added to the dictionary not long ago. Heck, "Jedi" was an officially recognized religion in England last I heard! What was their excuse?

"You've never heard of Star Wars?"

"Just a bit from that letter you sent Dad," Fred confessed. "He was muttering all sorts of rubbish like 'Order 66' and 'Battle of Hoth' and 'how on Earth do you make a car stay up in the air like that' and such."

"Didn't make a lot of sense, but then, that's Muggle stuff for you," George added. "No offense, ma'am."

"None taken." In reality I was in full accordance with George – lots of stuff in this world made no sense, even though it was generally accepted by most of the populace. "Star Wars is a series of movies – you know what those are, right?"

They nodded. "Dad rented a Muggle television once and showed us a few programs," Fred told me. "Very cool stuff."

"Mum made him send it back," George complained. "'Don't trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain,' she told us."

She thought the TV was intelligent? Must have been some fancy preprogrammed job. "Anyhow, Star Wars is a series of movies that's become extremely popular with the Muggle world. They have Star Wars books, Star Wars toys, Star Wars comics, Star Wars clothing, Star Wars games… you name it."

"Star Wars skivvies?" joked Fred.

"Yes, even those," I replied, and grinned as the two of them almost fell on each other laughing.

"So what's the movie about anyway?" asked George.

So the rest of the journey to Hogwarts was spent telling the story of the saga to the Weasley twins. It took a REALLY long time, seeing as they kept stopping me in mid-sentence to ask a question about the technology or some plot point that had them confused. And despite my extensive knowledge of the Star Wars universe, I had a difficult time with some of the questions. I had little inkling of how some of that technology could work, and there were some plotholes in the series that I'm sure even George Lucas himself would have had a hard time digging out of. I did the best I could, though, and the twins seemed to get the gist of it.

Sometime in the middle of my spiel, a woman clattered by the door of our compartment, pushing a cart loaded with junk food of every kind. I smelled hot pastry and felt my mouth water – breakfast at McDonald's had long since worn thin.

"You kids want anything?" she asked.

"Give us some Chocolate Frogs," Fred requested.

"And some Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans, please," George added.

I looked over everything on the cart but didn't see any brand names I recognized, which made sense – I really couldn't picture a wizard buying an Almond Joy. I settled for a small treacle pie and a box of the aforementioned Every-Flavor Beans, shelled over some of the coins left over from my Diagon Alley shopping spree, and sat down to enjoy my unhealthy but tasty lunch.

"Just don't let our brothers know we have cash," Fred told me in a secretive whisper. "They'll be all over us."

"You guys don't get a lot of pocket money, huh?"

"They don't," George replied, biting into a Chocolate Frog. "But then, they don't have jobs on the side, either."

"We're hoping to someday open our own joke shop," Fred explained. "So far we've just made some simple gag stuff, but we're hoping to build up our stock eventually."

"At the moment we're just selling to the Gryffindors," George added. "But we'll expand soon."

"Too bad you guys don't have the Internet," I replied, opening my bag of Every-Flavor Beans. "You could probably sell it on eBay."

Identical sly grins appeared on their faces as I popped a bean into my mouth. After watching me chew a few seconds, Fred spoke up: "What flavor'd you get?"

"Peppermint, why?"

"Just curious." He turned to his brother. "What Wizard Card did you get?"

"Merlin again. I'll swap you for Scamander."

"No way, that's outright robbery. Scamander's worth at least a Kenmore Kestrels card…"

"What are you guys talking about…" I began, biting down on another bean.

Oh no. Oh. No. Oh holy Qui-gon Jinn, ick…

"Hey, mate, what flavor's this one?" Fred grinned.

I stood, yanked down the window, and spat the bean into the wind. Then I hacked up a few loogies in an effort to clean out my mouth of that awful taste. Finally, I sat down and glowered at my compartment-mates.

"What did you do?" I demanded.

"Nothing, honestly," Fred replied.

"When the label says Every-Flavor Beans, they mean EVERY flavor," George grinned.

I grimaced. "Even laundry soap?"

"Even soap," Fred chimed in.

"Right, remind me to avoid the white ones from now on." I stared at the bag of beans, suddenly having no appetite for them, and shoved them in George's direction. "Swap you for a couple of frogs?"

"Here, have the whole box," George replied, tossing it in my direction. "You could use to start collecting Wizard Cards – you get one with every frog."

I opened one of the Chocolate Frogs. Underneath the candy was a pentagonal card with a picture of a rather fat and goofy-looking wizard picking his nose, with the name "Paracelsus" written underneath. As I watched, the pictorial wizard looked up at me, took on a stunned expression as he realized he was being watched, blushed, and ducked out of sight.

"Hey, cool," I grinned. "Do all pictures do this?"

"What, Muggle pictures don't?" asked Fred.

"No, but I wish they did," I replied, handing the card to George. "You can have it. I think I'll stick to collecting Star Wars memorabilia."

"Fantastic, it's a Paracelsus!" he cried, snatching the card. "Thanks!"

The card wasn't a complete waste, though. It got me to thinking how much cooler my Star Wars comic books and posters would be if the characters could move around in the pictures and interact with the viewer. And I wondered if I would learn how to make my own pictures move while at Hogwarts – I love drawing and am getting pretty good at rendering most of the movie characters. This would bear further study.

I'd just finished wrapping up "Return of the Jedi" for the twins and polishing off the last Chocolate Frog when the train slid to a halt. Fred and George stood and began rooting through their luggage, pulling out their school robes and putting them on. I followed suit, dropping a few action figures on the floor in the process of yanking the robes out of my trunk.

"Those are the Star Wars characters?" asked Fred, picking up a stormtrooper.

"Yup," I replied, scooping the others up and stuffing them back in the box. "I collect these guys. Kind of like you and the Wizard Cards, only these don't come with candy."

George took the stormtrooper, wiggled his legs around a bit, then shrugged and handed him back. "Would be a bit more exciting if Muggle action figures actually moved around…"

"Then they'd be blowing my trunk apart trying to kill each other," I told him, popping the trooper into my trunk again.

"Leave the trunk, they take it to the school separately," Fred advised.

"First years go with Hagrid, that's where we part company," George added. "Don't worry, you can't miss Hagrid."

"Thanks for keeping me company," I told them.

"No problem," Fred replied.

"Even if I don't make it into Gryffindor, I hope we can still talk some more. It was fun."

"Indeed," George replied. "See you 'round, Emily."

"See ya, Fred and George."

I joined the herd as the passengers disembarked from the train and crowded onto a dark platform. Thanks to my father's genetics I've been cursed with a bit of a vertical handicap, so I couldn't get a good look at the surrounding area. What I did see, however, consisted of high, forbidding black mountains and a cold clear sky glittering with stars – far more than I'd ever seen in one shot outside a sci-fi movie or planetarium visit. Hogwarts must be far enough away from any towns or cities to avoid that pesky light pollution.

"Firs' years! Firs' years! Over here, firs' years!"

A booming, heavily accented voice sounded over the chattering students, and I looked up to see a lantern swinging in the darkness, a lantern being held by what must have been Chewbacca's long-lost twin brother. He towered over even the tallest of the older students and had shoulders that would have made a linebacker look like Steve Urkel in comparison. Both his hair and his beard and mustache looked to have never seen a comb, a razor, or a pair of scissors in their lifetimes, and his dark brown coat was stained and patched quite heavily. Despite his size and scruffy appearance, though, he seemed friendly enough and didn't give off any sinister vibes.

"Name's Hagrid," he introduced. "I'll be takin' ye to Hogwarts now. C'mon, follow me…"

I trekked after the giant, joined by a steadily growing pack of other kids around my age. No one spoke, focusing instead on the steep, narrow path under our feet. I felt my stomach squirm like a nest of snakes as I stumbled after Hagrid. I had no idea what to expect now. I could only follow the crowd – something I always despised doing – and trust that our gargantuan guide knew what he was doing.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid informed us. "Jus' round this bend here…"

A few kids gasped and exclaimed in wonder as we rounded the bend to come across a shimmering black expanse of water… and a castle.

Now Dad had dragged us kids to some of the old English castles over the summer, hoping it would be an educational experience, and I'd been pretty unimpressed with what I'd seen. Forget everything you've read in fairy tales and seen in just about every Disney movie ever made – real castles are cold, drafty, ugly, and smell like dust and mold. Hogwarts was different, though. No ruins in disrepair here… but no fairy-tale palace either. It was, as far as I could tell, a crazy mess of walls, towers, turrets, windows, and flagpoles, all illuminated by lights from within and a glowing three-quarter moon from without. The sight made more of an impression on me than any of the forced tours through decaying ruins this summer had.

Hagrid waved his hand at a fleet of boats bobbing on the shore of the lake. "No more'n four in a boat!" he ordered.

I hopped into the nearest craft and was soon joined by a nervous girl with curly red hair and freckles, a black boy with close-cropped hair, and a blue-eyed boy with an unruly mop of ash-blond hair and an absurdly thin, pointed nose.

"Forward!" bellowed Hagrid, and the boats began gliding off across the lake by themselves. Was Hagrid a wizard, or were the boats themselves magic?

"My name's Artemis," the girl piped up. "Artemis Peridot. What's yours?" She smiled in my direction.

"Emily Wall," I replied.

"Jesse Thomas," the black kid introduced, raising a hand.

"Luther Macnair," the blond boy added in a low voice, giving me and Jesse rather disdainful looks. "You two don't have wizard's surnames. Muggle-borns?"

"Hey, my mum's a witch!" Jesse protested, shooting to his feet.

"Don't stand up in the boat!" I barked.

"What about you?" Luther demanded, arching a blond eyebrow at me. "Muggle or half-blood?"

I looked him right in the eye. "Muggle-born. Got a problem with that?"

"American?" He curled his lip. "Yankee and Mudblood all in one. What are you doing going to Hogwarts? You belong in the Salem Academy of Witchcraft, they don't give a damn about blood and have a curriculum dumbed-down enough for your lot to get…"

I grabbed him by the front of his robe and yanked him forward until my face was inches from his. "One more word out of you, Blondie, and we'll find out if kids that come from long and noble lines of wizards float or sink." I shoved him to the other side of the boat.

"So rude," he sniffed, smoothing out his mussed robes. "An American thing or just the crassness of Muggle coming through?"

"Leave her alone," snapped Artemis. "She can't help it that she was born in a Muggle family."

"That's right," Jesse grinned. "My dad's family's all Muggles, and they're pretty cool…"

At that moment the boat passed though a curtain of ivy and into an underground tunnel, finally coming to rest in a crude harbor. I hopped out of the boat and onto the rocky shore, hoping to put as much distance between myself and Snob-boy as I could. Artemis and Jesse accompanied me, evidently not any more impressed by Luther's antics than I was.

"Everyone out?" asked Hagrid. "All righ', this way…"

The giant led us through a passageway and back into the night air – right on the front door of Hogwarts. Hagrid strode up to the door and gave a booming knock, and the door swung open to reveal a tall, stern-looking woman in emerald-green robes and exuding a definitely commanding aura. I made a mental note not to mess with this lady – despite looking to be about the same age as my grandma, I was sure she could probably take on Hagrid and come out on top.

"Firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you. I will take them from here. Follow me."

We trekked after her, through a massive entrance hall and to a small chamber that seemed to branch off to another large chamber, one that buzzed with voices. I guessed it was some kind of assembly hall and that the rest of the school had already gathered there for some kind of start-of-the-school-year pep rally or speech. But then, this was wizard's school, so what did I know?

"Welcome to Hogwarts," McGonagall said imperiously. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses…"

I zoned out awhile as she described the different houses and how the houses would be like our families throughout our stay at Hogwarts. I knew all this already from the books, when were we going to get started…

"Now form a line and follow me," she said at last, and she strode off. We trailed after her, a few kids having to be pulled along by their friends. So I wasn't the only nervous one here.

This place was HUGE. Bigger than our entire house back in Bradford, and a LOT more ornate. Thousands of candles hung suspended from nothing to illuminate the hall, casting everything in a golden glow. Students chatted and fidgeted at four long tables set with gold plates and goblets, and a fifth long table at the head of the room held what I assumed were the teachers at Hogwarts. Banners in red and gold, yellow and black, blue and bronze, and green and silver glittered in the candlelight, and the ceiling… well, it looked exactly as if someone had peeled off the roof of the building, exposing the hall to the starry night outside (though I remembered from my books that the ceiling was enchanted to look like the sky outside).

"Quit gaping, Mudblood, and move it along." It was Luther, of course.

I walked on, taking great care to step on his foot on my way.

In front of the head table was a stool on which rested a ratty old hat, conical and wide-brimmed like the stereotypical witch hat all the stores sell at Halloween. It looked to have once been black but had since faded to a murky brown, and though it was ripped and ragged, it seemed to be carefully preserved. I wondered why this thing was being shown off to us… or at least, I wondered until the thing began to sing.

Yes, the hat started singing. And don't ask me to repeat the song – I did my best to block it out while waiting for the actual sorting to begin. Hey, I'll put up with a lot of lunacy to become a witch, but singing Muppet hats are a bit much. The gist of it was that we would wear the dorky thing and it would read our minds before deciding what house we belonged in.

Once the hat was finished, it received a healthy round of applause before McGonagall picked up the hat and called out the name of its first victim, one Rose Adair. So we were going alphabetically. Great. Which means I'd be last or close to it again, and would be standing around bored out of my mind while everyone else got sorted first by virtue of their last name. I guess I should be used to this by now…

The process went about the same for each kid – they'd sit on the stool, McGonagall would drop the hat on their skull, and it would sit there for anywhere from a few seconds to almost a minute before shouting out "GRYFFINDOR" or "HUFFLEPUFF" or whatever house it thought they belonged to. The process seemed pretty random to me, but then, I wasn't looking into these kids' minds. Which must be a blessing, I guess – I'd hate to get a look into some people's heads. Seeing what made Hillary tick would no doubt scar me for life.

Though the sorting itself was pretty boring for the most part, it was interesting to see which kids went to what house. Luther got popped into Slytherin, which he must have been expecting since he smiled gloatingly before removing the hat and going to join his applauding table. Artemis went to Ravenclaw, a choice that seemed to pleasantly surprise her; Jesse was dubbed a Gryffindor, and he just smiled and shrugged as he went to join his new House. Two girls that could have passed for twins ended up in completely different Houses -- one Gryffindor, the other Hufflepuff -- and one boy looked absolutely horrified when the hat declared he was to be a Ravenclaw (I wonder which house he was expecting or hoping for).

Finally, McGonagall called out my name -- "Emily Wall!"

I stepped forward and sat down, and she dropped the hat onto my head. The ratty old thing promptly covered my eyes, ears, and most of my nose, gracing me with the smell of old fabric and a hundred years' worth of exposure to head lice. I waited, not sure what to expect.

"Well, well, let's see here..." the hat muttered quietly -- I guessed that only I could hear it at the moment. "American and Muggle-born, not a combination you see at Hogwarts every day..." A moment of silence. "Holy Merlin, girl, you need professional help!"

I rolled my eyes. _Great, not only does it talk, it's a wiseass. Doesn't it know a geek when it sees one?_

"We don't get many of the geek persuasion at Hogwarts," the hat replied in its defense -- I should have known it could read my thoughts. "Well, at least I can deduce from your passion for those Muggle movies that you are dedicated to your goals and interests... you're strong-willed and know how to take care of yourself in a tussle... you have a thirst for knowledge and a desire to put it to use... you've looked after yourself quite well despite being the proverbial black sheep..." It mulled over its accumulated info for a minute, then addressed me directly. "So, where should I put you?"

I shrugged. _How should I know? You're the expert here._

"Very well, then, if that's the way you want it..." And the hat raised its voice and spoke the word that would plunge my world into far more chaos than I could have possibly envisioned:

"SLYTHERIN!"


	6. Nice Of the DADA Professor to Drop In

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologize that it took me so long to update. Real-life issues combined with writer's block delayed the story somewhat. This is a more transitional chapter than anything, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless._

_Ethan Draconis is the creation of my co-author Zachariasofborg, not me._

**Chapter 6 -- Nice Of the DADA Professor to Drop In**

For the first time that evening – maybe for the first time in Hogwarts history – there was dead silence in the Hall. No one moved or spoke, just stared at me as if I'd suddenly sprouted Darth Maul style horns or something. Every Slytherin's jaw hit the table as they realized just what was being Sorted into their house. Even the Weasley twins were quiet, which I would learn later was such a rare occurrence it might as well be a national holiday or something.

And if I had possessed a single lick of sense at that moment, I would have ripped the hat off, thrown it to the ground, maybe stomped on it for good measure, and run for all I was worth.

Instead, I broke the silence. "Whaaa?"

"Slytherin," the hat replied reasonably. "Good enough match. Now please pass me on to the next student, there's a girl…"

"Wait a freakin' minute!" I protested. "SLYTHERIN? How the heck can I be a Slytherin? My parents are freakin' Muggles, for crying out loud!"

"Miss Wall, please go to your House table and have a seat," McGonagall said crisply – evidently it took a lot more than a Muggle-born geek being thrown into Slytherin to blow her mind. "We have other students to sort."

"If I see you again this year, I'm ripping out your lining," I growled at the hat, then yanked it off, tossed it onto the stool, and went to sit at the very end of the Slytherin table.

Every eye at the table was on me as I slid into a chair next to a scrawny black-haired girl with unnaturally large blue eyes and skin so pale I wondered if she'd been raised in a basement or something. The girl tried to smile at me, but her tablemate elbowed her and hissed something in her ear, and she gave me a look of shocked disgust before pointedly ignoring me.

Two more kids were sorted after I sat down -- a Tony Wiggins into Hufflepuff and a Bathsheba Zean into Ravenclaw -- and McGonagall chased them off to their respective tables before taking the hat and stool away. At that cue, a man stood at the table at the very head of the hall and raised his arms for silence. There was no questioning that this guy was a wizard -- you could have taken his picture and stuck it in the encyclopedia under the entry of "Wizard" without any trouble at all. Everything from the brilliant purple robes to the long silver-white hair and beard, from the crooked beak of a nose to the piercing blue eyes, from the commanding sweep of his arms to the wise but kindly tone of his voice, screamed of wizardness. It was as if someone had set a template of the ultimate wizard at the head of the room in order to show us what we were to strive to become at Hogwarts.

"Welcome to Hogwarts -- or welcome back, as the case may be," he told us. "Now I have been given the opportunity to tell you the very important things you must know to make it through the school year. And the most important thing I must impart to you at this moment is... enjoy the feast!"

I turned to look at the table. Where there had been empty plates before, there were now steaming dishes of every kind, from roasts and chops to fried chicken and sausages, not to mention almost any side dish you could think of. I shrugged, picked up a fork, and stabbed a chicken leg, figuring I'd reached the point by now where nothing else would surprise me...

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" a raspy, maliciously gleeful voice chuckled.

I don't consider myself all that excitable, but hey, when someone who can do a dead-on Palpatine voice impersonation addresses you clear out of the blue, you can't help but start a little. Anyhow, that's my defense for squealing and jumping, making the chicken leg go flying toward the speaker's chest. The hunk of meat, fork still embedded in it, passed through his chest and hit the floor.

The entire Slytherin table burst into laughter.

"What's the matter?" asked Luther, a grin on his face indicating he was clearly enjoying every second of this. "Never seen a ghost before?"

"Shut up, blondie," I snapped.

The ghost, a long-haired robed man who glowed with silver luminescence, scowled down at his chest as if expecting there to be a grease mark on his robes or something -- not that it would have made a lot of difference, seeing as his robes were already fairly stained with what looked suspiciously like blood. "I am unfamiliar with Muggle customs," he sneered, "but in the wizarding world it is considered rather rude to attempt to instigate a food fight."

"Phooey," I replied, swiping someone else's fork and spearing another piece of chicken. "And here I thought we could start the first ever Hogwarts Feast War. Would have been a lot of fun." I gave the dead-Jedi-wannabe a cursory glance. "Geez, couldn't you have at least laundered your robes before you died?"

He snarled. "Have some respect for the Bloody Baron!"

"Wow, original name," I noted, piling mashed potatoes onto my plate. "How long did it take you to come up with it?"

The girl next to me jabbed an elbow into my side. "Can't you give the Slytherin house ghost a little respect, Mudblood?"

"We have house ghosts?"

She pointed. Sure enough, a glowing silver being sat at each table and mingled with the students. At the Gryffindor table, a smartly dressed ghost with a wide ruffed collar was showing off his near decapitation to a gawking first year student. A fat ghost in monk robes spoke to the Hufflepuffs with a sort of pompous air, and at the Ravenclaw table a tall dignified woman in a shroud-like dress watched silently over the students like a hawk surveying the landscape. I thought about asking what on Earth we needed house ghosts for but decided against it.

"You have a lot to learn about Hogwarts, Mudblood," she said rather snippily, then turned back to her plate and heaped it with some kind of green glop I assumed was some kind of cooked vegetable.

I ignored her and filled my own plate, then dug in. A few of the other girls gave my plate disgusted looks, but hey, if they were going to feed us this kind of grub, I wasn't intending on starving myself. Though it irked me a little that wizard girls at least had THAT in common with Muggle girls -- no matter how toothpick-thin they were, they were obsessed with their weight and figure.

"Luther tells us you're American," announced an older, muscular boy sitting a few seats down.

"Fscho?" I asked through a mouthful of chicken.

"So what are you doing in England?" he demanded.

I swallowed to clear my mouth. "Dad's job transferred him here."

"Your father's job, eh?" The kid smirked. "What's he do for a living anyhow? Is he in your Muggle military getting paid to shoot people?"

I glowered at him. "Don't diss the military, pal. And no, he's not in the military. He's an engineer."

"A what?"

I grinned at catching him off guard. "Engineers are Muggle alchemists gifted with a strange sort of magic that allows them to take complete bullcrap and turn it into a paycheck." Hey, that's how Dad explained it to me when I was little, so it's not like I was bashing him or his career here. And at least it made the big kid gawk a little.

"Shut your mouth, Montague," advised Luther. "You look like a fool."

He complied. "That's not true, is it..."

I never had a chance to answer that, because at that moment things got even crazier, which I hadn't thought would be possible.

The entire Ravenclaw table erupted into screams as something dropped out of the enchanted ceiling, almost as if it had dove down from the sky itself. With a wildly enthusiastic "YEEEEHAWWW!" it skimmed over the students' heads on what had to be a twenty-foot wingspan, turning to buzz each table in turn. A lot of the students ducked under the table or hit the floor in terror, while others pulled their wands and started firing jets of light at it. I ducked just as the thing swooped over my head, accidentally knocking my cup all over the black-haired girl next to me in the process.

By the time I'd straightened up, whatever-it-was had landed in front of the staff table and was delivering a cheeky salute to the model wizard at the staff table, looking quite pleased with itself. I say "it" because there was no way this thing could be human, unless it was a human who'd gotten on the wrong side of a wand some time ago. It looked as if someone had tried to transform a dragon into a human and for some-odd reason quit halfway through. Dark green, with a thatch of brown hair between its enormous fin-like ears and black-rimmed glasses framing its green eyes, it wore a black overcoat over a dark brown turtleneck and -- get this -- blue jeans. It wore a holster as well, but instead of a gun it carried what looked like a very small crossbow. And perched on its shoulder was a large, fluffy, gray-and-brown striped cat that had its teeth bared in what looked to me like an ecstatic grin.

Montague narrowed his eyes. "What's Dumbledore playing at, hiring a non-human?"

"Maybe nobody else was thick enough to apply for the Dark Arts post," a pretty blond girl theorized. "They say the job's cursed. You remember what happened to Professor Triskaideka last year."

"Wasn't any bloody curse, it was the trick staircase by the Astronomy tower," countered a fat kid. "Oaf never could remember to skip the fourth step down..."

"Still, they can't be THAT desperate!" protested Montague again. "I mean, hiring a Dragonkin?"

Dragonkin! Of course, from the _Fantastic Beasts _book! I'd thought I'd missed my chance to see one, but now one was teaching at the school! At least that was ONE stroke of luck for me...

The Dragonkin was talking loudly enough for us at the student tables to hear, speaking with a definite Boston accent as he ranted about his trip here.

"...couldn't have held the damn train five minutes for me, could they?" he grumbled. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep up with a train while flying in its slipstream? Especially when students are spitting out the windows? Who was eating Every-Flavor Beans anyhow, especially soap-flavored ones..."

Whoops.

"At ease, Professor Draconis," the model wizard I assumed was Dumbledore soothed, patting the air in a placatory gesture. "You are here, and you are in one piece. That is enough to be thankful for. Now sit down and have yourself a pastry, the house elves have outdone themselves on them..."

Professor Draconis finally shut up and took his seat between McGonagall and a dumpy gray-haired witch whose robes were covered in what looked like potting soil. A greasy-looking black-haired wizard at the other end of the staff table gave the Dragonkin a look that could have had General Grievous sobbing in terror. Geez, what was his problem?

"Who's that?" I asked.

The Bloody Baron sniffed. "Professor Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts," he said airily. "I see he was shorted again -- he truly deserves the Dark Arts post, why does Dumbledore not give it to him?"

So the Almighty Greasy One was jealous of the Dragonkin, eh? I wondered if Snape had the guts to try turning the Dragonkin into a pig or something while everyone else had their back turned. He certainly looked the backstabbing type. I guess I could count myself lucky that I'd most likely have the greaseball for only one class…

"He's also Head of Slytherin House, so you'll be seeing a lot more of him this term," Luther said with a gleeful smile.

Ugh. Just my rotten luck.

The plates cleared off by themselves, and the half-eaten dinner dishes were replaced with desserts of every kind. I spotted an apple pie and reached for it, but two other girls grabbed it first, so I made do with a slice of blueberry. At least Dad wouldn't have to worry about me starving to death at Hogwarts.

Once dessert had cleaned itself up, Dumbledore stood again and raised his hands, and the entire Hall went quiet again.

"Now that we've all been fed and watered, I beg a few minutes from you to deliver the usual start-of-term notices," he announced. "First of all, I would like to introduce you to our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Ethan Draconis."

Applause filled the Hall – mildly polite applause from the Slytherin table but enthusiastic cheering from the other three tables. Professor Draconis waved back at us with a clawed hand, grinning.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils, as is the village of Hogsmeade to any pupil under third year. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." He seemed to wink in Fred and George's direction as he said that. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

"I WISH the git'd drop that stupid rule…" muttered someone at the other end of the table.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And now…" Here he gave an excited grin so similar to the smiles my demented siblings like to give before conducting mischief that I cringed despite myself. "Before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"

Several Slytherins groaned.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and what looked like a long gold ribbon shot out of the end, twisting and curling itself into words in midair. "Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"

Again, don't ask me to repeat the lyrics to the song. Suffice it to say they made the Spongebob Squarepants song sound like Andrew Lloyd Weber in comparison. But I sang along anyhow, setting the words to the tune of the Flintstones theme song. Cheesy, I know, but I don't waste Star Wars soundtracks on goofball lyrics.

Everyone finished the song at different times, and soon the only ones left singing were the Weasley twins, singing the words to the tune of a depressingly slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted the last few lines, then gave a flick of his wand that made the words vanish. "Now off to bed, students! Tomorrow's a brand-new day."

Two older students, a tall slim boy who looked vaguely like Hayden Christiansen and a very pretty brunette who had the sort of face that suggested she never smiled, stood and motioned for us to follow. "I'm Horatio Capulet, and this is Agatha Burke. We're the Slytherin prefects this year. Follow us, if you please." And they led us out of the Hall.

As we walked it became clearer and clearer that the Slytherins resented having a Muggle-born in their house. More than one person managed to "accidentally" step on my feet on the way out, and a few people managed to trip and shove me into the wall as we proceeded through the corridors. I was careful to watch my feet as we descended a few flights of stairs, both to avoid being tripped and to keep watch for any of the trick steps that had supposedly taken out the last Dark Arts teacher.

Finally we stopped in what had to be the basement of Hogwarts – or, since this was a castle, I supposed it was the dungeons. I shivered a little and pulled my robes a little more tightly around me. Some school of magic this was, if they had the students sleep in the dungeons…

"The Slytherin dormitories and common room are here," Horatio (what parent names their kid Horatio?) was explaining. "No boys are allowed in the girls' dormitories, and vice versa. You will need a password to gain admittance – we will inform you when the password changes." He turned to the stone wall we'd stopped at. "_Vipera Berus._"

The stone wall slid aside, and everyone hurried inside. Thankfully, the Slytherin common room was somewhat warmer than the rest of the dungeons, though definitely not much cozier. The walls were bare, rough stone, and green lanterns hanging from the low ceiling gave the place an eerie cast. The furniture all looked very old and expensive, as if chosen for its looks rather than any sense of comfort. It was like walking into a haunted-castle themed room of a Halloween spook alley.

"To bed," Horatio ordered. "Classes begin in the morning. You'll receive your class schedules at breakfast."

The boys all shuffled after Horatio as he headed for the boys' dormitories. I turned to follow the girls to our sleeping area, but Agatha (what parent names their kid Agatha?) cut me off.

"You must be the Muggle-born girl I've been hearing all about," she noted, glancing down at my front. My school robes were open, revealing the shirt I'd worn on the trip here – the black one that read in bold letters VADER WAS FRAMED.

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

She arched her eyebrows. "No need to bite my head off, Muggle."

"I have a name," I shot back.

"Feel like sharing it?"

"Emily. Emily Wall."

"Very well, Emily Wall," she replied, putting some emphasis on my name, "I expect you to follow the rules to the letter, do you hear me? I won't see Slytherin House lose points simply because some American Muggle-born decides she's above the rules."

Sheesh, did they think I was an idiot or a rebel? "Fine, alright."

"First years sleep here." She pointed to a door marked 1. "Your trunk will be at the foot of your bed. And again – behave yourself. I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Muggle… excuse me, Emily Wall."

I gave her my biggest, fakest smile and went into the dormitory. The same sickly-green lanterns hung from the ceiling, making this the most uninviting sleeping room I'd ever seen (and believe me, I've seen some real roach motels). At least the beds looked comfy – huge, ornate ebony four-posters piled high with soft green blankets. I guessed I could get used to green, the Slytherins did seem big on it…

The other first-year girls were already in here, pulling personal items out of their trunks and chatting amongst themselves. There was a moment of dead silence when I entered, but I walked right on past them and to my trunk.

"So you're Muggle-born?" asked the black-haired chick who'd sat next to me at the feast.

"I have a name, and it's Emily," I told her.

"Very well, Emily," she replied snootily. "I'm Felicity MacDuff." The haughty look she gave me seemed to say "And don't you forget that either."

"I went to school with a girl named Felicity back in the States," I told her off-handedly. "But everyone called her Felix…"

Her eyes narrowed. "My. Name. Is. Felicity. Not. Felix."

"Read you loud and clear," I replied as I popped open my trunk. "Where's my owl? I don't see his cage in here…"

"They take all owls to the Owlery when they come off the train," said another girl, this one ice-blond with intense green eyes and the kind of huge nose and duck lips that would have impressed Jar Jar Binks. She spoke as if she were addressing a complete idiot. "I'm Charity Nigellus."

"I'm Melody Fenris," added an amber-eyed red-head from the bed next to me, giving me an intense look. Though her robes were brand-new, the clothes beneath them looked a bit ratty. I wondered if, under different circumstances, she would have been the one picked on all term if there hadn't been a Muggle-born around to take the heat.

"Nice to meet you all," I said, not really meaning it, as I fished around for my PJs.

"Wall, you say?" asked Felicity. "There's an Anastasia Wall in Ravenclaw, but I thought she was a pureblood…"

"No relation," I told her. "No one in my family ever became wizards before."

"They can't be related," Melody put in. "Anastasia's family favors purity of blood, even though the hat made her a Ravenclaw. The hat does make mistakes sometimes." She gave me a pointed look.

"If Walls favor blood purity, why are there so many Muggles named Wall?" I demanded.

She shrugged. "Blood traitors in every family."

"Ex-cuse me?"

"You know, wizards who are fool enough to fraternize with or even marry into Muggle families," Charity pointed out. "Diluting the blood, twisting the old traditions around…"

"Ex-cuse me," I snapped, "but what exactly is wrong with Muggles anyway?"

"They're so primitive!" Felicity replied. "I mean, look at you! I'll bet your family makes you do housework, that you don't even have a house elf to do the chores for you!"

"And you must ride around in a noisy smelly automobile rather than Apparate or use a broom," sniffed Charity. "How awful."

"And you have to rely on slow, unreliable Muggle post rather than owls," Melody added.

"And THAT makes us primitive?"

Felicity sniffed. "You'll understand someday, I'm sure. Give it time."

I tossed my PJs onto the bed and dug around some more in my trunk. "I think I understand plenty right now, thank you very much," I told them as I fished out some of my figures.

"What... are... those?" demanded Charity, looking at the action figures and wrinkling her rather impressive nose as if I'd just tossed dead fish onto the my bed instead of plastic stormtroopers.

"My Star Wars figures. Figured I'd put them around my bed, give the place some atmosphere..."

"Ugh!" Charity exclaimed, shuddering. "They're hideous!"

Says the girl with the Pinnochio-style snout, I wanted to say, but before I could open my mouth Felicity put her two cents' worth in.

"We're not going to have your Muggle rubbish on display in our dormitory," she declared. "Pack it away now."

I just looked at her, not bothering to reply. Without breaking eye contact I reached into my trunk and pulled out figure after figure, placing them on their stands and arranging them carefully along the headboard and footboard. With each Jedi, soldier, and droid that made its appearance Felicity's eyes narrowed more and more and Charity looked more and more disgusted. Melody just stared at the collection, a look of reluctant interest on her face -- no doubt she'd never seen creatures like these before.

Finally the last figure was in place... but I wasn't done. Still watching Felicity and holding a defiant expression on my face, I pulled out my Darth Vader poster, unfurled it, and slapped it onto the wall with help from a little Sticky Tac. The image of the Sith Lord glowered challengingly at all the Slytherin first years, golden light ablaze on his armor, saber ready, cloak billowing, arm flung out as if Force-choking some unlucky foe offscreen -- the Dark Lord in all his glory. I grinned as the girls gaped at the poster, varying degrees of horror, disgust, and curiosity crossing their features.

Felicity was the first to recover, and after delivering a deadly glower in my direction she went to her bed, climbed onto the mattress, and yanked the drapes closed.

"You just threw down the gauntlet, Muggle," Melody warned me. "This is war."

"What?" I asked innocently. "I was just decorating."

"He's hideous!" screeched Charity, finding her voice at last. "What is he? A dark wizard?"

"Close enough." I patted the poster lovingly. "Darth Vader. Ain't he great?"

She shuddered and turned away.

Melody gave me a warning look. "I mean it, Muggle. I've known Felicity since we were babies. She has it in for you now."

"I've got three words for Felix over there, then. Bring. It. On."

"And it shall be brought, Muggle Yank!" Felicity shouted from behind her drapes. "And my name's not Felix!"

"Whatever." I got into bed and pulled my own drapes shut.

Changing into my PJs, I slid underneath the covers and tried to get some sleep. Tried being the operative word here. I was in a strange bed, in a strange country, in a room full of complete strangers in the dungeons of a castle in the middle of Force-knows-where, and I'd just been thrown into a house full of pureblooded wizards who thought just because their family lines were pure wizard meant they were better than everyone else. I'd just been insulted by a hat, buzzed by a Dragonkin, told off by a trio of snooty Slytherin girls and a bloodstained ghost, and now I'd just made a mortal enemy. I was the only American, geek, or Muggle-born in this house, and my chances of making a friend here had just shrunk to almost nil.

I looked up at my Vader poster. "Wow, this year's off to a lovely start already," I murmured.

He glowered back unhelpfully. Some confidant he was.

After tossing and turning awhile, I slipped out of bed, reached into my trunk, and pulled out my notepad and a pen. I opened the drapes just enough to let in enough light to write a letter home by:

_Dear Dad, Matilda, and brats... um, siblings,_

_Made it safely to Hogwarts. The school's actually a big castle. Pretty cool. And I met a set of twins on the train that could give Athena and Apollo a run for their money. I'd hate to get on their bad side, but luckily I think they're cool with me. Can you believe neither of them have seen Star Wars at all? Ah well, gave us something to talk about on the way here._

I chewed on the pen cap a little, thinking. If I told Dad the truth about the girls I roomed with and the house I'd been sorted into, he'd demand I'd come home instantly. And I really wanted to give Hogwarts a chance. So I decided to fudge a little. Not outright lie, though. Just... omit certain truths.

_They have houses here, and they have this weird hat that sorts you into the right house. I'm in Slytherin. The kids here are all interesting. I'm bunking with a girl named Felicity, but I call her Felix. Bugs her. There's also Charity and Melody, I talked to them some. And some other girls, but I haven't talked to any of them yet. Maybe tomorrow._

_The food's great here. If they keep feeding us like this, I'm going to come home looking like Jabba the Hutt. Though maybe they'll run it off me here. I haven't found out if we take gym yet, but it's possible._

_Oh, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here is a dragon! And he's from the US! That rocks! I can't wait for his class._

_Well, gotta go to bed now. I'll write you later and tell you how my classes are._

_May the Force be with you._

_Emily_

I folded the letter up and tucked it into my notepad, silently reminding myself to give it to Kenobi later to deliver. I still felt unsatisfied, though. I wanted to vent to someone, anyone... but if I told Dad he'd drag my butt home faster than you could say "xenophobia." What to do, what to do...

Then I remembered a promise I'd made this morning, and I pulled out another sheet of paper and began to draw. Egyptus couldn't read yet, so when I wrote notes for her I just drew pictures. Hopefully she'd have the sense to not show this particular one to Dad and Matilda.

First I drew myself with the hat on, and a speech balloon coming from the hat that contained a picture of a snake instead of the word "Slytherin." Then I drew the common room of the Slytherin house, putting snakes on the chairs and curtains so she could connect it with the previous scene. I drew Luther, Montague, Horatio, Agatha, Felicity, Charity, and Melody sitting in the chairs talking to each other. Finally I drew myself in bed, surrounded by my action figures but otherwise alone.

I folded this letter up as well and wrote a note on the outside -- _WARNING: Private letter for Egyptus. This owl has permission to bite off the fingers of anyone besides Egyptus who tries to take the letter._

Feeling a little better having unloaded somewhat, I laid down and eventually fell asleep.


	7. I Guess One Has To Be Crazy To Work Here

**Chapter 7 -- I Guess One Has To Be Crazy To Work Here**

When I woke up in the morning, my first thought was something along the lines of "Which of the psychotic siblings put a cat in the blender?" My second thought was "What's with all the green? Saint Patrick's Day isn't for at least six months." And my third thought was "Who the heck is snoring, anyway? Hillary doesn't snore."

It took my muzzy brain a few minutes to put everything together and realize where I was. I was at Hogwarts finally, and in Slytherin House, apparently where green was the rule rather than the suggestion. The snoring must be one of my cheery bunkmates, though whether it was one of the snobby trio I'd talked to last night or one of the other first-years I hadn't been introduced to yet I wasn't sure. The origin of the cat-in-the-blender noise wasn't evident yet. If this was what the school used as a "rise and shine" bugle call, it sure worked for me. At least it had the added benefit of waking up the other girls, even if the snorer remained asleep by some miracle.

"Alright, I'm up," I muttered, rolling out of bed. Pulling apart the curtains, I swung my legs out of bed and jammed my feet into my slippers...

Oh, ick. I pulled my feet out of my slippers to find them covered in slimy goop. I was just deciding that I really didn't want to know what this stuff was when I smelled and recognized it -- the apple pie a couple of the girls had grabbed from the dinner table last night. I'd thought they were being greedy when in reality they were planning a little surprise "gift" for me.

"Oh, good morning, Mudblood," Felicity said with a smile, climbing out of bed. She wore a long white old-fashioned nightgown with gold ivy embroidered up the sleeves and along the hem, a garment that conveniently screamed of wealth, snobbery, and hideosity all in one. "Something wrong?"

I lifted my sticky foot. "'As American as apple pie,' huh? Real cute. Not."

Charity, who was trying to muffle the noise by clamping her pillow over her ears, raised her head and feigned wide-eyed innocence. "Are you accusing us of something?"

"Sith, yeah, I'm accusing you of something." I held up one dripping slipper.

Felicity smirked. "Now if we really knew anything about that, do you think we'd tell you?"

Melody continued to saw logs on her bed, arms and legs askew and blankets hopelessly tangled. How she could sleep through the noise I had no idea.

As I wiped my feet off the noise continued, rising and falling in something that somewhat resembled a melody. Now insanely curious, I decided to forego the slippers and have a look, never mind about curiousity and the cat.

"No sneaking around in the halls at night, Mudblood!" Charity informed me as I got up and headed for the door.

"Who says it's night?" I asked, and ducked out without another word.

No one else seemed to be about yet (though given the noise outside, they had to be up), and the reason soon became perfectly clear -- when I finally passed a window, I could see it was still dark outside. I made a mental note to smack whoever-it-was upside the head for dragging me out of bed this early as I followed the sound.

After getting lost a few times (no thanks to the moving staircases) and almost losing a few toes to frostbite on the cold flagstone floors (I'd get those girls later for filling my slippers), I finally found myself at the foot of a spiral staircase. Partway up I spotted what had to be the ugliest, scrawniest cat I'd ever laid eyes on outside the arena scene in "Attack of the Clones," perched on the edge of a stair and glaring at me disdainfully with huge yellow eyes. It had its mouth closed, so I could safely assume it wasn't the source of the noise.

"Get lost," I hissed. Sorry people, I'm not a cat person.

The cat hissed back, arching its back, and bolted past me and galloped off down the hall. I ignored it and continued up the stairs. The tower was a fairly high one, so I was puffing from the exertion when I finally reached a circular room at the top of the tower, one that had windows all around to provide a complete view of Hogwarts and the surrounding countryside -- which, right now, consisted of dark craggy mountains and a smear of pale light to mark where the sun would rise in a short while.

It was Professor Draconis, wearing blue flannel pajamas and a black velvet dressing gown. And of all things, he was playing the bagpipes. Of all the things I ever imagined seeing a dragon-man do, playing the bagpipes was not that high on the list. Yet here he was, the instrument tucked under one arm, blowing into the thing and his clawed fingers dancing across the chanter as he coaxed something that might have been a melody out of it. I do admit my exposure to bagpipe music was rather limited, so I really wasn't the best judge of the music. All the same, I think I'll stick with Don McLean and Weird Al, thank you very much.

The music built to a cresendo... and on the final note something launched out of one of the pipes and streaked out a window with a high scream. Draconis watched it go with a totally unconcerned expression on his face... at least, totally unconcerned until something exploded in one of the farther towers. Then he grinned with the same mischevious grin Indy bore when bearing down on an unsuspecting action figure with mutilation in mind.

A faint shout could be heard from the tower -- "WHAT THE HELL! OUR EXPERIMENT!"

"Oh dear," Draconis noted, his grin never wavering. "Ah well, I'll repay Fred and George later..." He turned and gazed at me as if just noticing I was there. "Oh, hi."

"Um... hello." I gazed apprehensively at the bagpipes. He laughed and patted the instrument, and a belch of smoke puffed out of one pipe.

"Not to worry dear, it's unloaded," he assured me.

"What's it shoot, fireballs?" I asked.

"At this point, just bottle rockets," he replied. "See, I've been on a bit of a James Bond movie kick of late, and I was inspired by one episode in particular to create my own prototype of the rocket-launcher pipes. It's still in the testing stages, as you can see."

"I noticed," I replied.

He extended a clawed hand. "Fellow American! Goodtameecha! What's your name?"

"Uh... Emily. Emily Wall."

"Emily!" He flashed gleaming fangs in a smile. "I have a cousin by that name. Father's side." He cocked his head to one side, the ear-fins on the side of his head twitching slightly. "So you must be the Slytherin girl everyone's talking about."

Great, so I was the talk of the school already. "How'd you know?"

"Snape put in an appeal to Dumbledore last night in the teacher's lounge. Wants you out of his house, apparently. Made a huge fuss about it, too. Dumbledore put his foot down, said there was no going back on what the hat decided."

Double great. I was the freak of the Slytherins, possibly the freak of the school, and the head of my house hated my stinking guts already when I hadn't even met him face-to-face yet. I'd never been the most popular kid in school, but neither had I managed to earn the enmity of a good quarter of the school before the first day of classes had even started.

"Eh, I wouldn't sweat it," he advised, packing up the pipes. "Once the whole novelty of a Muggle-born Slytherin wears off, they'll probably settle for ignoring you and concentrating on hating Gryffindor like they always do."

"Thanks," I told him sarcastically. "I feel loads better now."

"Me too," grumped a voice just behind me. "Though I'd feel loads better if you got off my friggin' TAIL!"

I whirled to see a cat glowering at me. Not the feline hideosity that had greeted me on the stairs, but the cat I'd seen riding on Draconis' shoulders when he'd flown over the Hall last night. He lifted his tail and examined it carefully before offering me an offended look.

"Watch the feet, sister! Do you have any idea how fragile this thing really is? Nah, 'course you don't, humans don't know the first thing about tails..."

"It talks," I noted. Aren't I quick?

"Emily, meet Syndey," grinned Draconis. "Syndey, Emily Wall."

"Um... hi Syndey," I told him hesitantly.

"Got any tuna?" he asked.

"Um... no..."

"Some welcome." He turned his tail on me and strutted down the stairs. "See ya in class, kid."

"Geez, could've given him some manners with the speech skills," I muttered.

"Sydney does things on his own terms," Draconis informed me. "Then again, that's a cat for you."

"Never owned a cat, so I wouldn't know." I shrugged. "Heck, never owned a pet until I got my owl..."

"Never owned a pet? You poor deprived girl!" He reached over and patted me sympathetically on the head. "Maybe I can let you borrow Sydney occasionally. He's a good cat, really, once you get past his attitude and get over his habit of randomly jumping on you from the ceiling..."

"Thanks, I'll pass..."

A sickly yowl cut off any further conversation, and I turned to see the mangy critter I'd seen on the stairs trotting into the chamber, followed closely by an equally scrawny and mangy man. Forget what I said earlier about Ollivander looking like Gollum -- this guy was just a loincloth away from scrambling around on all fours, talking to himself, and biting off hobbit fingers. He glowered at me through a curtain of scraggly gray hair before bending down to stroke the cat, never minding what diseases he might be catching from the thing.

"Good girl, Mrs. Norris," he purred. "Catching a student out of bed... well done, my sweet." He grinned wickedly at Draconis. "I'll take care of her, sir. I've dealt with miscreant students before..."

"Don't see how she's misbehaving," Draconis replied, arching an eye ridge.

"Students aren't to be out of bed before morning..."

"It's morning now," I defended, pointing out the window.

The man's eyes narrowed further. "No self-respecting student would be up and about this early in the morning. Not unless they have mischief in mind..."

In that case, the entire student body would probably have to be punished, no thanks to Professor Draconis' stunt. I was really beginning to dislike this guy, who I suspected was a hall monitor or something.

"Is there any rule on the books that says how early is too early for students to be awake?" asked Draconis. "Is there a morning curfew as well as an evening curfew?"

The guy opened his mouth to retort, found he didn't have anything to say, and just stood there a moment with his jaw hanging open. Then he snapped it shut, picked up Mrs. Norris, and stalked off. The cat offered a baleful glare over the man's shoulder as they descended the stairs.

"And meet Mr. Argus Filch, caretaker at Hogwarts," Draconis told me. "Not the cheeriest of souls, I'm afraid."

"I noticed," I replied.

He was quiet a moment, then put the blowpipe back to his lips and continued playing. Here in the tower the sound was a LOT louder, forcing me to muffle the sound with my hands over my ears. He must have some kind of spell on the pipes to amplify the music, I figured. Why was another question -- had he been assigned to give the "wake-up" call to the entire school? Or was he just an exhibitionist?

Since it was too noisy to say goodbye, I just waved before going back down the stairs. Apparently several people had decided that, if they weren't going to be getting any more sleep, they might as well get up and at least pretend to be alive. Students shuffled through the halls, some still in pajamas, others in school robes, some looking fresh from the cast of _Dawn of the Dead _and others wearing the kind of annoyingly perky expressions that you would just love to smack off their faces for them. All were making their way in some fashion or another toward the same destination, it seemed, and it didn't take a genius to figure out where they were going. After all, if someone was going to drag you out of bed at some Force-forsaken hour of the morning, they might as well make sure you got a good breakfast.

The Great Hall was as packed as it had been last night, though the hangings had been taken down and the ceiling was a rapidly lightening gray rather than star-studded. I spent a moment studying it before heading for the Slytherin table. The ceiling was enchanted to look like the sky... but there was still a ceiling up there. No way someone could just dive down from the sky into the Great Hall, not without creating a good-sized hole or plastering themselves cartoon-style against the roof. And I had read that it was impossible to teleport -- excuse me, Apparate -- into Hogwarts. So just how had Professor Draconis made his grand entrance into the school last night?

"Budge over," someone behind me advised. I stepped aside even as I turned to fire off a retort at whatever Slytherin was behind me at the moment.

Only it wasn't a Slytherin -- it was Fred and George.

"Hey Fred! Hey George!" I grinned, feeling somewhat better than I had a few minutes ago. Maybe these guys would let me sit at their table -- after all, I doubted there was an actual rule that stated students had to dine with their houses...

But Fred and George walked past me as if I didn't exist, talking between themselves. I noticed their bright red hair looked slightly singed. I wondered what they had been working on that morning... then decided that info was irrelevant if they weren't going to be speaking to me. Sheesh, what was the problem? It wasn't as if much had changed since I'd gotten off the train.

Or had it? Draconis had said something about Slytherins hating Gryffindors. It was dang possible, even probable, that the Gryffindors returned the favor on a regular basis. Joy, now I had half the school hating my guts instead of just one house.

I sat down at the end of the Slytherin table and filled my plate. The other students made a point of ignoring me and ensuring that I had a good ten-foot chunk of the table all to myself, as if Muggle-ism was a contagious disease or something. I decided to ignore them and kept eating. Fine, if they were going to be that way, let them. I'd find friends in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff if the Slytherins and Gryffindors were going to treat me like bantha poodoo.

A flurry of wings, and owls drifted down from the windows and landed beside students to drop off letters or packages. A huge horned owl landed smartly before Luther and presented him with a carefully wrapped box, which turned out to be some rather expensive sweets from home. Charity and Melody received owls too, Charity taking a letter from her bird and reading it aloud to her giggling friends, Melody grabbing the box from her own owl and shooing the beast away quickly before slipping the package under the table. Huh. What kind of things would she be sneaking into school...

Kenobi landed in front of my plate, hooting softly as he lowered a wrapped and tied parcel and letter into my hands. I fed him a piece of sausage off my plate before he flew off, then removed the letter from beneath the string and opened it.

_Dear Emily,_

_We hope your first day at Hogwarts is a good one. Tell us how it goes!_

_When we got home from London, we found this package waiting for you in the mailbox. We decided you would rather have it now than wait until the end of the school term to get it. Since your owl showed up in the middle of the night to deliver your letters (and scared the whole house to death in the process), we sent it with him. We hope it reaches you soon._

_We love you, and we can't wait until Christmas so we can see you again!_

_Love,_

_Dad, Matilda, Jefferson, Hillary, Logan, Athena, Apollo, Independence, Egyptus, and Kilenya_

_P.S. Tell us if taking pictures is allowed in your school, and if the answer's yes we'll send you a disposable camera with the next letter. Everyone wants to see pictures of your dragon teacher!_

I tucked the letter in my pocket, then ripped open the package. I had to really restrain myself from squeeing happily, seeing as the Slytherins weren't exactly big on Star Wars as far as I could tell. The deluxe, autographed Jango Fett toy Dad had gotten off eBay for me had finally come in! And the nerd who'd given it up had been considerate enough to send it in a special collector's case to keep Tem Morrison's signature from getting scratched off by rough handling or psychotic siblings. I owed someone a LONG thank-you note when I next got the chance...

"So you're the Muggle-born."

I turned to look at the speaker -- Professor Snape. Up close he wasn't real pleasant to look at, with that beaky nose and long black hair that you could have greased a truck axle with. He gave me the kind of look that suggested he'd just scraped me off the bottom of his shoe after walking through a cow field, then turned his attention to the action figure.

"Emily Wall, I take it? And what is that you're holding?"

"It's Jango Fett," I told him. "An action figure from the Star Wars movies. My parents sent him to me..."

"Well, I'm afraid I will have to confiscate it," he informed me, reaching for Jango. "Toys are not permitted in classes."

"Hey!" I protested, holding the figure under the table to protect it. "What if I just kept it in the dorm?"

"And have you playing with it instead of studying or sleeping? I think not."

"She's got loads more action figures," Felicity piped up helpfully. "They're all around her bed. And a really hideous poster too."

"Really." He almost smiled at that, and I got the impression he was enjoying this too much. "Then I will have to confiscate those as well."

"But they're just decoration!" I protested. "I don't play with them..."

"Miss Wall," he informed me sternly, "you will turn over the action figures or you will receive detention."

I kept Jango under the table, giving him my best don't-even-think-about-it glare.

"Very well," he said, definitely smiling this time. "Detention. Tonight immediately following dinner. Be in my office then." He extended his wand. "_Accio Action Figure._"

Jango was suddenly ripped from my hands and flew into Snape's, and before I could even squeak in protest he swept off holding the figure. I wanted so badly to chase after him and get it back...

"Aw, did he take your favorite toy, Muggle?" said Luther in a mocking babyish voice. "You poor little thing..."

"Shut up," I grumbled, stuffing the last of my eggs into my mouth before getting up to go. Horatio the Prefect stopped me, however.

"Your class schedule," he informed me brusquely, handing me the paper. I had a look -- well, not too bad a load today. Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I wouldn't have Potions until tomorrow, so at least I had an extra day to prepare for Snape... wait, I had detention. Oh well, at least it would prepare me for his class. And no one ever said I couldn't use my detention to drive him bonkers for taking Jango from me in the first place.

_Break..._

I figured classes at a school of magic would be interesting. I just didn't know how interesting they'd get.

If the groundskeeper, Hagrid, was Chewbacca's long-lost twin brother, then Charms Professor Flitwick had to be the illegitimate son of Yoda. I'm serious -- the guy had to stand on a stack of books to see over his desk and address his students. His voice was very un-Yoda-like, however, as he read off the roll call in a high squeaky Chip-and-Dale sort of voice, as if he were WAY overdue in hitting puberty.

"Now that the hard part's out of the way," he announced, "let's start off this year by learning a very simple yet very useful spell -- _Lumos. _Pronounce it with me, now -- LOO-mos!"

Okay, so this was boring enough, chanting words mindlessly over and over. But I played along, hoping this would actually have a use.

"Very good," he told us after a few repeats. "Now raise your wands straight before you... and... _Lumos!"_

"_Lumos,_" I tried, and to my surprise a beam of light shone out of the end of my wand, like a tiny flashlight.

"Excellent!" he praised, nodding at me and a handful of other students who'd gotten it right on the first try. "Handy little spell for getting about in the dark... now you who got it right the first time just sit tight while I help out the other students..."

He toddled from desk to desk, correcting people's pronunciations and adjusting the sets of their arms, in one case breaking up a fight between two kids in the back who were fencing with their wands lightsaber-style instead of practicing the spell. I wished I'd thought to sit in the back, at least they were having fun back there...

"So what do Muggles do when they lose their way in the dark?" asked Felicity. "Stumble around crying until they're eaten by a wolf or fall off a cliff?"

"Flashlights, stupid," I muttered. "And you don't need a goofy word to turn them on, either, you just push a button."

"No talking, Miss Wall and Miss MacDuff," Flitwick informed us.

Felicity waited until he was occupied breaking up the "fencers" again, then gave me a grin. "I heard that Muggles think aliens from outer space built the pyramids in Egypt," she said in a condescending tone. "And that they actually think they can put a man on the moon."

"Some do believe that," I replied. "The ones who watch too much _Stargate, _anyway. And you're a bit late on the moon thing -- we got a man up there way back in the sixties."

Melody's jaw dropped, but Charity elbowed her and her expression changed from awe to disbelief. "That's got to be a lie."

"You wouldn't be the first to believe that," I replied, "but let's not get into the moon-landing conspiracy, all right? I'm just taking Neil Armstrong's word for it."

"Neil who?" demanded Charity.

"Girls, no talking," Flitwick reminded us. "And that's five points off apiece, I'm afraid."

Points? Then I remembered reading about the House Cup, and how teachers could add or knock off points for rewards, punishments, or to suit their whimsy. So us talking in class bumped Slytherin down twenty points? Hmmmm... maybe if I kicked up a fuss every time the girls got snotty, I could bring Slytherin down a bit... but no, I wasn't the dramatic type like Athena. I preferred to handle things myself rather than whine and crab about them.

Transfiguration looked like it was going to be an interesting class, and the most promising -- maybe the crazy sibs would finally leave my stuff alone if they knew messing with my figures would mean getting turned into aardvarks. And I felt a little better when I saw the no-nonsense McGonagall would be teaching. She certainly looked as if she could handle any of the students, so maybe she'd keep Luther and the Evil Trio off my back during class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said sternly. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

And she proceeded to leap onto her desk, changing into a cat in the process. Some students murmured amongst themselves, clearly impressed, and McGonagall gave a nod before jumping back down and taking on human form. I just smiled to myself, thinking how much easier life would be if I could change into an acklay at will and scare off a few siblings or Slytherins...

But I quickly got the impression that we weren't going to be turning ourselves into house pets or computer-animated monsters anytime soon. After a long, boring lecture that we were expected to take notes on (I hoped we didn't have to turn these notes in, as I'd doodled starfighter battles in the margins of mine), she passed out matches and instructed us to work on turning them into needles. Starting small, I guess, though I wasn't sure how smart it was to be giving THIS crowd matches and needles to play with.

"Curious things, matches," Luther noted in a condescending drawl. "Amazing the lengths Muggles will go to in order to get out of using magic..."

I shook my head and focused on my match. So Luther believed it wasn't inability that kept Muggles from using magic, that we were just being pigheaded? And I had no way to prove otherwise to him, seeing as I was a magic-user from a Muggle family.

"How does this thing work, anyhow?" he muttered, and he prodded the red tip of the match with his wand. Not smart -- the match not only ignited, it gave off an impressive mushroom-cloud fireball that illuminated the entire classroom and scorched his pale hair to a nice ashy blond color. Several girls screamed, but none gave off as high-pitched of a shriek as Luther.

"Ten points off of Slytherin," McGonagall remarked crisply, taking the blackened stub of the match away from him and dropping a fresh one on his desk, one that she'd taken the time to snap off the igniting head.

"I'm burned!" he squealed, holding out his blackened hands. "I need to go to the hospital wing!"

"That's just soot, Macnair," she said brusquely, pulling a cloth out of her robes and brushing his hands off. "You're perfectly fine."

By the end of class, none of us had made much progress. I could have sworn my matchstick looked a little grayer than it had started out, but that could be my imagination. At any rate, it looked like I had a ways to go on the Transfiguration deal.

I'd already figured History of Magic would probably be the most boring class, and Professor Binns did nothing to disprove my theory. He didn't make any effort whatsoever to liven up the subject -- then again, he was a ghost, so I wasn't sure he could do much to liven up his subject. He droned out dates and names and events in a monotone ramble like an Episode I battle droid, only without the "Roger rogers" to break up the mind-numbing buzz of his voice. I fought to stay awake and pay attention, but when I heard Melody actually begin to snore halfway through I gave up and settled for sketching Darth Vader on the roll of parchment where I should have been taking notes.

Finally, the moment I'd been waiting for... Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The Slytherins and the Ravenclaws had this class together, so I got another chance to see Artemis Peridot, the girl who'd been pretty friendly with me on the boat ride. I waited until she chose her seat, then sat down next to her.

"Hey girl, what's up?"

She turned and gave me a puzzled look, as if wondering why I was addressing her. "Emily?"

"Last time I checked. How's Ravenclaw treating you?"

"Well," she replied, turning her attention to her book.

I sighed. "Look girl, just 'cause the stupid hat threw me into Slytherin doesn't mean I've suddenly turned into a royal snob. I don't like half these Slytherin kids any more than other people do. Give me a chance, all right?"

She looked at me unsurely. "You do realize Slytherin's turned out more dark witches and wizards than any other house, don't you?"

Now that was news. "No, I didn't know that. But what's that got to do with..."

"Maybe there's a reason you were put into Slytherin," she said in a quiet, nervous voice. "Maybe the hat saw a darkness in you, a desire to use your newfound powers for dire purposes." She carefully gathered her books and quills and stood. "Sorry, Emily, but I don't want to risk befriending someone who might turn out to be a dark witch. My mum and dad lost good friends, even family, to the dark wizarding forces during the great war against You-Know-Who. I don't want to go through that. I can't."

And before I could say a word in my defense, she'd hurried off to the far side of the classroom. It wasn't until then that I realized that the class was divided in half as surely as if someone had erected a razor-wire fence straight down the middle, with Ravenclaws on one side and Slytherins on the other. Joy, so the Ravenclaws hated me too, and all because the hat had decided I'd make a good Slytherin. One of these days I'd have to go hunting for that stupid piece of cloth and introduce it to a little process called tie-dying...

"Good afternoon, class!" came the way-too-cheery announcement, and Professor Draconis strode in, his black overcoat and dark green wings flaring out in all directions as he walked. "Thank you for allowing me to teach this year! Now before anyone goes and asks, let me just state that I am NOT the result of a Polyjuice Potion gone screwy; I am the REAL deal." He pulled what looked like a day planner out of his pocket and looked something up. "First order of business appears to be -- roll call, eh?" He looked up. "If you're here, raise your hand."

I raised mine, as did most of the other students. Luther and Charity, I noticed, kept theirs down, offering each other puzzled looks as if they didn't understand what was going on.

"Well, that was easy," he noted, making a note before pocketing the planner. "You two, what's your names?"

"Uh... Luther Macnair?" Luther offered.

"Charity Nigellus," Charity added.

"You don't sound so sure of that, Luther," Draconis noted. "Ah well. As you didn't raise your hands, I'm going to assume you're absent for the day and mark you accordingly. Oh, and that'll be five points for playing hooky."

Luther groaned and thunked his head onto his desk. Charity just glowered, as if thinking Draconis' hide would make a lovely pair of boots right now. I grinned to myself, pleased that these two had gotten taken down a peg or two.

Professor Draconis gave the class a long, studious look, then raised his hand and breathed out a fireball into his palm. The class "oohed" in appreciation as he held the sphere of flame in his claws as casually as if it were a baseball.

"Over the course of the year I'll be teaching you how to defend yourself in any situation, using both your wand, _and_ your environment," Draconis went on, passing the fireball from hand to hand as he spoke. "You'll be learning basic defensive spells, of course, but you'll also be learning how to deal with situations where your wand's unavailable, or using magic will just make things worse. And _don't _try the little eye-roll trick with me, missy," he snapped in Felicity's direction, abruptly flicking the fireball in her direction. She screeched in terror as it exploded on her desk, neatly obliterating a note she'd been composing to pass to a friend.

"In the words of a certain nutty ex-Auror I happened to meet in a pub years ago -- CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he declared, giving Felicity a meaningful look. "If you'd been paying attention, you could have avoided that."

She glowered, but he seemed not to notice. I liked this guy more every minute.

"When you're in this class, and even outside this class, you must be on guard. For I and my classroom associate will be attacking you on a totally random basis throughout the year. And we have Dumbledore's approval on this, so don't go whining to your Head of House on this one. It's going to be just like the real world, kids -- an attack could come from anywhere, any time. In other words, the class motto for this year is..." He turned and began writing on a chalkboard. "_Expect the Unexpected."_

From the ceiling overhead came an odd jabbering sound, one that sounded suspiciously like "Ohbuggerohbuggerohbugger..."

Without looking up or even pausing in writing the class motto, he gave a flick of his wrist, and his wand sprang into his hand from in his sleeve. He flicked the wand upward just as Syndey the cat dropped from the rafters, hair standing on end and claws outstretched. At Draconis' motion the cat halted in midair inches from the Dragonkin's scalp.

"This is an example of what I hope to eventually teach you," he went on nonchalantly. "Thanks for the impromptu demo, Sid."

"You'd better be welcome," grumped Syndey. "I lost that mouse I was going after when I realized it was hovering between the rafters... after I jumped. You ever pounce and miss ten feet up?"

Draconis plucked the cat out of the air and set him down on the floor, where he sat and began cleaning his paws. The Dragonkin slipped his wand back into his sleeve, then leveled his gaze upon the class. After a moment's consideration, he pointed to someone on the Ravenclaw side. "You, what's-your-name..."

"Cecilia, sir."

He grinned and broke into song -- _"Cecilia, you're breaking my heart! You're shaking my confidence daily..." _He trailed off when he realized everyone was staring blankly at him. "Never mind. Okay Cecilia, what's the proper counterjinx for the Full Body Bind?"

"Um..." She thought a minute, then just shook her head.

"You, the kid who's not here today," he went on, pointing at Luther. "How many wizards does it normally take to subdue a Nundu?"

He gave Draconis an offended look. "How should I know?"

"You, the fellow Yank." Now he was pointing at me. "What spell works best against a Lethifold?"

I had just opened my mouth to say I didn't know when I remembered reading about this critter in my _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them _book. "The Patronus Charm."

He nodded appreciatively. "Someone's been doing their homework." He turned to the rest of the class. "In the 'expect the unexpected' vein we'll be following this year, I'm going to be asking you random questions throughout the year on jinxes, counterjinxes, dangerous magical creatures, and different scenarios you might find yourself in inside and outside of Hogwarts that require Defense Against the Dark Arts skills to overcome. Be prepared to answer them."

In other words, every day was going to be pop quiz day. Ugh.

Luckily, we were saved from further questions by the end-of-class bell.

"And that's it for today." He flopped into his chair, propped his feet up on his desk, and folded his arms behind his head. "Off with you, kids. Professor Draconis needs a nap."

The class hurried out, evidently too weirded out by our apparently crazy Dark Arts teacher to stay in the class longer than necessary. I started to follow, but Draconis cleared his throat as I headed for the door.

"Em, come to my office after dinner, why don't you?" he offered.

"I can't," I replied. "I have detention."

He whistled. "Detention on the first day! That's an achievement, girl. All right, come to my office after detention, why don't you?"

"All right," I said unsurely, wondering what he wanted.


	8. Here's Smoke In Your Eye

**Chapter 8 -- Here's Smoke In Your Eye**

Detention wasn't exactly a new experience for me. Okay, so I'm not a major troublemaker at school -- I don't make a habit of setting fire to bathroom trash cans or catfighting with other students in the halls. But I've done my share of lurking in the principal's office and/or detention hall, usually for minor-to-moderate stuff like mouthing off to obnoxious teachers, penning pro-geek grafitti in the girl's room, and bopping kids over the head with my plastic lightsaber when they made fun of my Halloween costume. I think my most rebellious act up to that point had been playing hooky from school to catch a morning showing of _Revenge of the Sith. _So over the years I'd seen various kinds of punishment detail at schools on two continents, and I was convinced that most of these punishments were more to entertain sadistic teachers than to actually reprimand the students in question.

Snape didn't do much to change this impression, either.

"Good of you to show up, Miss Wall," he greeted coldly as I walked into his dreary office -- what was it with Slytherins and keeping all their rooms half-lit? Did they expect us to develop night vision or something?

"Who's serving detention with us?" asked a familiar voice, and I saw Fred and George looking up from a table where they were doing something that looked fairly disgusting and involved a mortar, pestle, and umpteen different bottles and jars. Considering what I knew of their reputations thus far, I wasn't too terribly surprised to see they, too, had scored detention on their first day of classes.

"Sit," Snape ordered, pointing to a chair beside the twins.

I complied.

"What're you doing here?" asked Fred.

"Same as you guys, detention," I replied.

"But Snape never gives Slytherins detentions," protested George.

"Quiet, Weasleys," Snape ordered. He studied the bottles and jars on the table a moment, then picked up the biggest of the lot and held it up for me to see its contents. I wanted to be sick. Floating around in a neon-green brine of some kind were rubbery, slug-shaped lumps of what looked like old meat.

"Can you identify these for me, Miss Wall?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. "Hutt fetuses?"

George snorted as if trying really hard not to laugh.

"Wrong," Snape replied. "Dragon tongues." He thunked the jar down in front of me. "For your detention, you will be preparing these for use in my Advanced Potions classes. Cut them in half lengthwise, then cut each half into four pieces. Once you've finished, I will give you your next assignment." He strode toward his desk, sat down, and regarded us coldly.

"What a grouch," I muttered, taking a knife from the table and trying to use it to fish a tongue out of the jar. No way was I touching these things more than I had to.

Neither of the Weasley twins said a word as they worked. One of them was grinding a wad of black fuzzy things with the mortar and pestle; on closer inspection they turned out to be spider legs. The other was cutting open something that looked disturbingly like some kind of organ and draining its contents into a jar. (Later I learned he was collecting armadillo bile. Ick. Between armadillo gallbladders and dragon tongues, I'd take the tongues, thank you very much.)

"One has to wonder," Snape said in his cold, quiet voice, "how a Mudblood like yourself made it into my house."

I ignored him as I sawed through the tongue -- the thing was tougher than it looked.

"I have told Dumbledore repeatedly that the Sorting Hat is getting old," he went on. "Fraying, moldering, gathering dust... quite easy for an artifact that's over a thousand years old to start to go senile. If it can't even sort students properly, what's the use of having it?"

I concentrated on cutting. He was just trying to get to me, he was trying to make me give him an excuse to slap on another night of detention or suspend me... I had to block him out, think of something else like Clone Wars episodes...

"Snape?" A head poked in -- Horatio the Prefect's head.

"What is it, Capulet?" Snape inquired.

"We need your help. Luther's been trapped in a suit of armor, and we can't figure out how to get him out."

Snape blinked. "And how, pray tell, did he get IN the suit of armor in the first place?"

"I don't know," Horatio replied, "but he's not happy about it. That and whoever stuck him in there decided to put Mrs. Norris in with him."

Fred and George snorted into their spider legs and armadillo bile, obviously trying not to dissolve into hysterics.

"You two didn't do it, did you?" I whispered, deciding to take advantage of Snape's moment of distraction to chat.

"Wouldn't you love to know," Fred said rather shortly, turning back to his spider legs.

"Maybe you'd like to rat us out to Snape, mate?" George added, not looking up from his disgusting work.

I hacked a dragon tongue in half. "C'mon, guys, I wouldn't rat you out..."

"You're a Slytherin," Fred pointed out. "They're all the same. Look out for themselves, no one else."

That did it. The treatment I'd gotten from the students for these past twenty-four hours had been slowly chipping away at my (admittedly already thin) patience, stretching my tolerance to the breaking point. Yoda would have counseled me at this point to have patience, a Jedi shall not know discouragement, anger and agression the dark side were they, blah, blah, blah, etc., but at this moment I wouldn't have taken that advice had it come from a seething Sith Lord with a saber at my throat. I'd been insulted, teased, tripped, pushed, pranked, ostracized, lost my action figures, and finally received an unfair detention thanks to this whole deal with the houses. I hadn't been pushed to my limits -- I'd been flung clear over the edge. And being told that, because I was Slytherin, I was obviously a selfish snob was the proverbial last straw.

I grabbed my knife, raised it, and slammed it into the table inches from Fred's mortar, hard enough that the tip embedded in the wood and left the blade standing almost perfectly vertical. Fred jumped and gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look.

"Look, cloneboys, let's get one thing straight," I snarled. "I don't know why the idiot talking, singing hat stuck me in Slyth-freaking-erin. I don't know why so many of them have problems with anyone without pure blood. And I don't know how the two of you can go from being friendly with me on the train to hating my stinking guts in less than a day. What I do know is that I hate being a Slytherin just as much as you and the rest of the school seem to hate me for being one!"

"We don't _hate _you..." began George.

"Then why did you walk by me this morning like I didn't exist?" I shot back. "Why did you ignore me when I tried talking with you? And why are you treating me like dirt now? Nothing's changed since I got off the train -- nothing but being thrown into a house that thinks I'm some kind of lower life form!"

The twins just stared at me, too stunned to talk.

"I understand that you might have issues with a lot of Slytherins," I went on. "Every one I've met so far has been a snob. But you guys know me, don't you? We were halfway to being friends on the train. Just because the hat got a glitch when it sorted me doesn't mean I've mutated into a pureblooded brat overnight."

They exchanged a look, cowed. Then they turned back to me.

"Real sorry, mate," Fred said with a guilty grin. "Guess we just get so used to most of the Slytherins thinking they're better than us that we've assumed they're ALL like that."

"When the hat made you a Slytherin," George added, "we thought maybe you were secretly pureblood and the Muggle and Star Wars thing was an act. Guess we were wrong."

Fred extended a hand. "We'll give you another chance."

"Forgive us?" asked George, holding out his own hand -- thankfully not the one that had been holding gallbladders.

I pretended to consider it a moment, though some part of me was secretly jumping up and down with joy at regaining the Weasleys as friends and allies. Maybe with their incredible pranking skills, I could teach the Evil Trio a lesson...

"Forgiven," I told them, shaking each hand. "Thanks a lot, guys."

"No problem, mate," Fred replied.

"So how'd you earn yourself detention?" asked George, going back to his work.

"Amassing an army of action figures to take over Hogwarts, apparently," I replied, chopping another tongue. "Snape confiscated them all."

"Bugger," Fred said sympathetically. "Too bad for you, mate. But maybe we can help you get them back."

"That would be great!" I replied. "So how'd you two score detention?"

"Oh, just a little misunderstanding," George replied. "Snape didn't appreciate our little start-of-term gift for him. I dunno what his problem was -- I thought Slytherins LIKED snakes!"

"Maybe twenty of them was overkill," Fred pointed out.

I snorted. "Serves him right..."

"Sshhh!" hissed George as Snape finished talking to Horatio and went back to his desk. He gave Fred and George a glower that would have had Darth Maul whimpering.

"You two," he barked, pointing at Fred and George. "I know you had something to do with this."

"Something to do with what?" Fred inquired innocently.

"You know perfectly well," he snarled. "What possessed you to put Luther Macnair inside a suit of armor?"

"Nothing," George replied, positively radiating shock that Snape would even consider him a suspect. "We didn't touch him. His school books while he wasn't looking during lunch, yes, but..."

"Wall," he growled, turning to face me now. "Did you have anything to do with Macnair's current state?"

I shook my head. "Haven't seen him since Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

His gaze slid over toward the twins, then back to me. "I would be very, very careful who you choose to befriend this year, Wall. The wrong sort of friends can bring you trouble."

Was he insinuating that I should dump the Weasley twins off my friends list? Not that my friends list was all that long -- so far it was just the twins and maybe Professor Draconis and Sydney. Artemis wasn't speaking to me, and I could probably safely assume that Jesse wasn't either. The Slytherins hated me for being Muggle-born, the other three houses hated me for being Slytherin, and while Snape had been the only openly hostile teacher so far, only Draconis had been truly friendly toward me. Fred and George were probably my only hope of retaining what was left of my sanity this year, and Snape was suggesting that I cut off ties with them? I'd sooner wear Vulcan ears.

"I think I know who the right sort of friends are and who the wrong sort are," I replied, and returned to my cutting.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You dare smart-mouth a teacher..."

The door was flung wide open, and Snape whirled, his wand drawn.

"Snape, yo, what's happenin'? Put that thing down, you're gonna poke someone's eye out."

I grinned broadly as Ethan Draconis sauntered into the room, hands in his pockets and an amused expression on his face. When he made eye contact with me I swear I saw him wink, but he looked away so quickly no one else caught the gesture.

"How dare you just barge in here..." snarled Snape.

"What, a Dragonkin can't have a friendly chat with a fellow educator?" Draconis replied, spitting a small fireball into his hand and rolling it around his palm with his thumb. "Just thought I'd go around, get better acquainted with the faculty here..."

"Get out of my office," Snape ordered. "I'm in the process of supervising detentions..."

"Detentions, eh?" Draconis looked at us with a puzzled expression. "Haven't had the pleasure of giving one out yet, but then, the year's only a day old, what? What're they in for?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business, Draconis. Now leave."

Draconis cocked his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't like me..."

While the teachers bickered, Sydney jumped up on the table, eyeing the twins shrewdly. "'Sup, kids?"

Fred's jaw dropped. "Holy Merlin!"

"Lee Jordon was right, he can talk!" George exclaimed.

"All cats talk, Carrot Top," Sydney retorted. "You humans just don't have the patience to master the lingo. That and a good Translation Charm never hurts." He poked his nose into Fred's mortar and sniffed a little. "Blech! Spider legs!"

"They're for Potions tomorrow," Fred replied.

"And I'm not even gonna ask what YOU'RE doing," Sydney grumped in George's direction. He then sniffed at the pile of chopped tongues. "Dragon parts -- ick. Thought at least one of you might be chopping up a fish!"

"Sorry, Sid, no fish," I told him.

Sydney sat back on his haunches and considered. "Hmmmm... lots of nice potion ingredients here... what's say I make you kids an offer? Can of tuna apiece, I'll help spring ya from detention."

"Really?" Fred grinned.

"Really really, kid. Can of tuna from each of you, though -- dolphin free, and water-packed, not oil. Watching my weight. And an enchanted can opener too. Don't have thumbs, can't work one on my own."

"How are we supposed to get canned tuna at Hogwarts?" I demanded.

"You got Muggles at home, right? Write and ask for some. Is it a deal?"

"Deal," the twins said in unison.

"All right," I said a little dubiously. Just because the cat could talk didn't mean he knew what he was talking about, after all. As a certain great Jedi once said, the ability to speak does not make one intelligent.

"Let's see..." Sydney paused to lick his paw and use it to scrub at his ears a bit, then investigated the many bottles and jars on the table. "Whadda we got here... hellbore... wolfsbane... porcupine quills... infusion of wormwood... ah-HA!" He nosed a bottle full of red liquid. "Dragon blood! Valuable stuff... we'll need a glug or two of this... and some of that hellbore, if it hasn't gone stale..."

On Sydney's instructions Fred tipped the half-crushed spider legs out of the mortar, and we began throwing in the ingredients the cat identified. As he kept rattling off necessary items and the instructions became more and more complicated, I began to wonder what exactly he had up his paw.

"...and a drop or two of that nasty stuff George's got," he said at last. "Fred, mash it all up with that pestle. Em, try to get Ethan's attention for me."

I looked up. Sure, Sydney, give me the hard job. Snape and Draconis were so deeply embedded in their discussion I wondered if a bomb going off would get his attention. From what I could see, the rumors that Snape hated the Dragonkin for taking the DADA position were very true, and Draconis didn't seem at all perturbed by it. If anything, Snape's dislike for him only served to amuse him to no end.

"I dunno why you got passed over, pal," he went on, tossing the fireball to his other palm. "I'm not inside Dumbledore's head. Ask him."

"You honestly think you're qualified for this job?" Snape replied. "Hogwarts is a highly respected and revered institution. And I know how shoddy the American education system is..."

"Oh, it's Yank-bashing time, is it? I'll have you know you Brits over here aren't exactly perfect..."

I raised my hand. "Mr. Draconis?"

"He's busy, Wall," Snape told me. To Draconis he said, "I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Draconis. I don't trust you."

"The feeling's mutual, Snape," Draconis replied with a cheeky grin. He held the fireball between his thumb and forefinger and raised up to Snape's eye level. "Keep as close an eye on me as you like, pal. Just know that I'm not going to take it lying down. In fact... I plan on harassing you the whole way."

And with a flick of his claws he sent the fireball flying into the mortar.

_BAROOOOOMPH!_

The mortar exploded into powder. I flung my arms up, expecting to be showered in gunk, but apparently the explosion had vaporized Sydney's concoction into thick, oily, yellowy smoke that billowed out to engulf us. I gagged as the foul stuff filled my mouth and nostrils with a stench that was a cross between old mushrooms and rotting eggs, and to my side I could hear the twins coughing and moaning and Sydney hacking as if letting a king-sized hairball come up.

Suddenly something hooked around my waist, and I was gripped in a fit of vertigo that made my already unhappy stomach lurch in protest. Somewhere I could hear one of the twins moaning and Snape roaring curses...

"Open your eyes, Em," Draconis urged. "You're clear."

I cracked my eyelids open. Oh dear. The view was a bird's-eye one -- I was looking down at a churning mass of yellow smoke that filled the entire office. Dimly I could see the form of Snape staggering about, coughing and yelling and waving his arms in a mostly futile attempt to clear the air. Something seemed to flicker in the haze; I could only guess that was the flaming remains of the mortar and its contents.

I took a moment to take better stock of my current position. Professor Draconis had me by the waist, and in his other arm he held both the twins, who were looking at him with expressions of awe. Sydney was once again perched on his shoulder, looking highly pleased with himself. And as for where we were exactly... from all appearances, when the smoke-bomb had gone off, Draconis had simply grabbed us all and flown up to the rafters.

"Nothin' to it," he whispered. "Got the idea from _Batman, _actually."

"So that's how you dive-bombed the feast," I realized. "You snuck in and hid in the rafters."

"Bright, this one is," he noted. He motioned down to Snape. "He's got quite the mess to clean up. We'll wait 'till he goes off to get Filch to help, then sneak out."

"You're helping us skip detention?" Fred asked, stunned.

Draconis grinned evilly. "Tricksters do have to stick together, y'know."

George smiled. "I like this Professor."

_Break..._

After sneaking out of Snape's smoke-filled, stinking office, Draconis snuck us off to his own office for "a drink and a chat." I didn't get a very good look at Snape's office while I was there, seeing as half the time it had been barely lit and the other half smothered in yellow haze, but for the most part I just assumed all the teachers' offices here were similar to offices in regular schools -- books, filing cabinets, a cluttered desk with pictures of spouses and kids here and there, teaching credentials visible, maybe a framed landscape on the wall, etc. But if Draconis' office was anything to go by... holy cow. No teacher back in California could have gotten away with so many weapons on the walls, everything from medieval-looking swords and bows to Oriental katanas and throwing stars to modern rifles and semi-automatics. One wall was completely covered by a massive tapestry that depicted a map of Great Britian... but a map that moved and shifted. If I looked closely enough, I could see boats cut across the ocean, trains slither along their tracks, cities seethe with activity like stirred ant nests. There was a desk in the room, true, but aside from a nameplate and a liquor bottle it was bare. That and someone (three guesses who) had obviously been bored and had a knife, since the surface was covered in carved grafitti.

"The staff warned me about the two of you," he was telling the twins at the moment, pulling two bottles from a drawer in his desk and handing one to each of them. "Said you had a mischevious streak as wide as the Mississippi or something similar. Some of the stories they told me were quite scary, actually."

"That's part of the fun," Fred replied, popping the cap on his bottle and taking a swig.

"It's no fun if you're not a little scared," George added.

"True, true," Draconis remarked. "But rather than frightening me off, the stories just made me want to meet you even more. We tricksters have to stick together, y'know." He handed me a bottle. "Ever tried butterbeer, Em?"

"No," I replied. "Is it good?"

"It's excellent!" Fred assured me. "Better than Muggle soda pop!"

"No offense meant," George added.

"None taken," I replied, opening the bottle and taking a sip. Wow, Fred didn't exaggerate! This was good stuff!

Draconis nodded approvingly, then pulled a shot glass from a pocket of his overcoat and poured himself a drink out of the liquor bottle. Whatever he was drinking, it looked to be strong stuff, seeing as flames were shooting from the brim of the glass. He raised the glass in a toast, then knocked the shot back.

"Is that stuff safe..." I began.

Smoke suddenly jetted from Draconis' ear-fins, and he gave a whoop of enthusiasm. "Fire whiskey! Strong stuff, packs a punch!" He grinned widely. "So we've got the two tricksters and the American geek, eh? I know plenty about the twins, but not a lot about you, girl."

So I ended up telling my whole freaking life story to Professor Draconis, telling him about my insane family, being uprooted from the States and trucked to England to live, being the only geek in my family and in school, the reaction I'd received from the Slytherins and other students, and my opinions on each of these matters. Fred and George listened with interest, and Draconis nodded every so often as if in agreement. By the time I reached the end of my story, I felt drained but relieved, as if I'd just dropped a huge load out of my arms.

"Sorry about all that, Emily," Fred told me. "Wow, and I thought OUR family was mental."

"And at least your house doesn't hate your guts," I muttered. "I mean, you prank people, but they still like you and think you're fun. Me, I'm not even trying to bug people and they think I'm scum of the Earth or something." I sighed and took another pull of butterbeer. "If I'd just ended up in Gryffindor instead of stinkin' Sith-erin."

Draconis leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and propping his feet up on the desk. "Under the circumstances, I'd like to go to Dumbledore and request that you be transferred to another house, but I already know what his answer there would be. The Sorting Hat does know best, like it or not, and it might have a reason for putting you where you are right now." He thought a moment, then laughed. "Sith-erin. I like that. That's what I'm gonna call it from now on."

"Good, maybe we can start a trend," I replied.

"We'll take care of you, Emily," George assured me. "We'll try to keep them off your back as much as we can."

"Thanks, guys," I told them. "I owe you."

Fred smiled wickedly. "No problem. Besides, it'll be nice to have a set of eyes in Slytherin house so we know what kind of pranks to pull there."

"Ah, so you want me to spy on the snakies?" I asked, catching on.

"Of course!" George replied. "If anyone deserves to be pranked, it's them!"

I saluted, feeling much better than I had all day. "Agent Wall reporting for duty, SIRS!"

A bell tolled, and Draconis pulled a pocket watch from his overcoat and squinted at it. "Curfew, kids. Off to bed or you'll have Filch to deal with."

"Filch isn't a problem for us," Fred assured him.

"I figured as much." He extended his free hand toward me. "Good luck this year, Emily, and -- I gotta say it -- may the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you, Professor Draconis," I told him, shaking his hand.

"Please, call me Ethan!" he requested. "Save Professor for class!"

"Yes, Ethan."


	9. It Takes Two to Jango

**Chapter 9 -- It Takes Two To Jango**

Don't you just love it when someone's carefully crafted plot to humiliate you goes horribly wrong on their part? I can't say I live for moments like these, as they tend to be way too few and far between for my tastes. But every once in awhile, one of the brats back home would have a prank backfire, or some bully at school would try to be too clever for his or her own good and end up either botching their planned cruelty in a hilarious fashion or attracting an authority figure at exactly the wrong moment. It was times like this that more than made up for me being the odd one out at home and school... and saved my sanity from being totally trashed.

Next day's Potions class turned out to be one of those times.

I had already figured by now that Professor Snape would have it in for me for escaping detention, so I braced myself as I entered the classroom, coming in last in order to lessen my chances of being shoved or tripped. The Gryffindors, who had this class with us, ignored me completely as they took their places on the side of the room opposite the Slytherins. While the Ravenclaws hadn't exactly been on friendly terms with the Slytherins, the Gryffindors seemed to outright hate the snake-house. Evidently the rivalry that _Hogwarts, a History _had stated went clear back to the house founders was still going plenty strong.

I found myself a nice seat in the back corner and prayed no one would sit by me, but my lousy luck decided to kick in as a long-faced Slytherin boy with hair the color of cardboard and huge gray eyes claimed the adjacent seat. He fidgeted with his robes a minute, then turned and glared at me.

"What are you staring at?" he demanded, sounding more paranoid than arrogant.

"When did it become illegal to look at someone?" I asked.

He turned to the front of the room and steeled himself, as if determined to ignore me for the rest of the class period. He kept sneeking suspicious glances at me, however. Geez, what was his problem?

Snape swooped into the room at that moment, his black robes billowing around him like the wings of an overgrown bat. He addressed the class in a low murmur that I strained to hear over the whispering and giggling of the other students. Did he think he sounded all wise and mysterious by mumbling like that?

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death..."

Most of the students were on the edges of their seats, staring enthralled at Snape as he continued to monologue about the beauty and art of potion-making. I feigned interest as best I could, though some part of me was chilled by his speech. This guy was as creepy as Palpatine in his own weird way. I wondered if the two of them were related...

"Wall," he announced suddenly, striding toward me and fixing me with an icy glare -- I noticed the stench of Sidney's stink bomb had yet to fade from his robes. "I understand you are already Professor Draconis' pet."

Someone snickered. I just offered my best innocent smile. "I was under the impression that his pet was a cat, Professor Snape. Either I grew whiskers and a tail during the night or you might be a little confused."

The Gryffindors burst into laughter. Snape's glower turned Arctic.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he snapped at the Gryffindor side of the room, earning a mass groan. "And detention for you, Miss Wall, for your flippant remark. And don't expect Draconis to provide a jailbreak this time."

My grin never faded. That had been worth a detention, in my mind.

"As I was saying -- apparently Professor Draconis thinks you the clever sort. Tell me this, then -- what is a bezoar?"

My first reaction would have been _hell if I know, _but I decided if I was going to get this question wrong, I might as well do it with style. "I have his action figure -- Special Edition, and mint in the package too. I hear you can get fifty bucks for it on eBay."

The laughter was more scattered this time, but apparently the Muggle-borns of the class appreciated my joke. The kid next to me gave me a wide-eyed stare.

"And another night's detention, Miss Wall," Snape hissed. "If you wish to have a free evening anytime this year, I would advise you to keep your tongue in check."

"Yes, Master," I replied with a bow.

He stormed off to the front of the room. "We will begin this term by brewing a simple Energizing Potion. Made correctly, this potion will provide the drinker with great stamina and speed. A mistake in the brewing, however, will create not a valuable potion but a powerful but fairly useless acid." He waved his wand at the cracked chalkboard, and a piece of chalk rose and squeaked out the recipe. "Get your materials from the supply closet and begin."

I plunked my cauldron on the table, collected my supplies, and got to work. The Slytherin next to me scootched as far away from me as possible, to the point where practically half his cauldron hung over the edge. I decided to ignore him as I got to work, crunching up a length of some kind of dried root and mixing it with a little shark-liver oil. Though I did have to admit, it was nice for a change to have the Slytherin afraid of me rather than simply looking down his nose at me.

Once I was done with the first step, I had a look at the chalkboard for the next one. Geez, Snape's handwriting was atrocious. What was I supposed to add next, dried moly or diced mole? Seeing as the latter wasn't in the supply closet, I opted for the former. Pinch of dried moly, some rabbit's fur, a strip of diced horsehide, spoonful of powdered dragon horn... oops, dragon horn was supposed to go in before the rabbit hair. Hopefully that wouldn't affect the outcome. I just crossed my fingers as I piled in the rest of the ingredients and gave everything a brisk stir.

Snape came around to ignite a small fire under everyone's cauldron. When he reached my table, he gave my concoction a hard stare, then smiled grimly and lit the fire. The kid next to me didn't get so much as a glance as Snape pushed his cauldron back onto the table and started it brewing, though in my opinion the stuff in his cauldron looked more like motor oil than any kind of potion.

"Stir once clockwise, count to ten, then stir once counterclockwise," Snape instructed. "Then count to ten again and stir once clockwise. Repeat until the mixture becomes clear and purple in color."

The room was filled with the scraping of spoons on metal and steady chants of students counting aloud. One kid on the Gryffindor side of the table ignored the instructions and began stirring quickly as if making pancake batter; no one was particularly surprised when her potion began spewing sparks and screaming like a Roman Candle. My tablemate had to stop and think a few times, obviously forgetting whether he was supposed to stir clockwise or counterclockwise this time. I noticed his potion was taking on a decidedly green cast and smelling like vinegar. Mine? Well, it hadn't turned purple yet, but at least it wasn't smelling or otherwise acting up...

My spoon began smoking, and I lifted it up to see it had been eaten away to the handle. Oh crap.

"Excellent work, MacDuff," Snape praised as he inspected Felicity's cauldron. "Take note, everyone -- this is a perfect example of what your potion should look like." He raised a flask of clear, amethyst-colored liquid. "Let's see how everyone else has done..."

I stuffed what was left of my spoon in a pocket of my robes as he made the rounds of the classroom. Almost every Gryffindor's potion was inferior, of course, though it was amusing to see his face scrunch up in a hideous scowl when he came across a potion that had absolutely nothing wrong with it. I did notice a few of the Slytherins had also made lousy brews, but he was a bit more lenient towards these. At our table...

"A zero, I'm afraid," he told the boy beside me, prodding with a knife at the material in his cauldron. It had gone a disgusting shade of puke-green and taken on the consistency of Silly Putty. The kid looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die.

"And Wall?" He glanced into my cauldron, and I winced. Instead of a clear purple liquid, all I had to show him was a thick black sludge flecked with silvery bits from the melted spoon.

"By all appearances, a useless mess," he noted. "However, let us be certain first..."

And he pulled my Jango Fett figure from his robes.

My stomach hit my knees. Several Gryffindors gasped. Luther smirked. The Evil Trio's eyes all glittered maliciously. My tablemate's eyes bulged as if with horror, though why that was the case I had no idea...

"You're joking," I accused, though a sick weight in my gut told me that Snape didn't joke around.

"On the contrary," he replied, "I am perfectly serious. If your potion, however unappetizing in appearance, is still potent, then nothing should happen to the figure. If, however, you have strayed from the recipe..."

"Don't, please," I begged.

"But sir, that's an autographed figure!" the kid next to me protested. I turned to stare at him. What did he know about action figures?

"Stay out of this, Woodruff," Snape ordered. "If you have followed my instructions, Wall, you have nothing to fear. If, however, you have opted to do things your own way... then you have only yourself to blame for this." And he dropped the figure.

I grabbed for Jango, but he hit the black slop in my cauldron before I could catch him. Instantly the clear plastic of his packaging warped and twisted as if suddenly thrust in a fire, the cardboard backing blackening and smoking. The figure sank in the dark sludge, which bubbled and smoked like a tar pit dragging some prehistoric victim to its doom.

Snape smirked. "Inferior, I see. You did not follow my instructions..."

The kid next to me -- Woodruff -- whimpered like a kicked puppy.

I made a last-ditch effort to rescue Jango, grabbing the package before it could sink completely and pulling it out. I got a handful of still-smoking cardboard and plastic... but no Jango. The package had been eaten away enough that Jango had fallen out of it. Despite all my resolve, I felt tears forming in my eyes. No... not Jango, not after I'd spent so long waiting for him and promising Dad I'd pay him back for him...

"A zero," Snape surmised. "Pity. It looked to be a nice figure, too."

I opened my mouth to say something that probably would have landed me with a third detention... only to see something in the ruined potion twitch. I shut it quickly as some kind of creature thrashed its way to the surface, covered in black sludge and groping wildly for some means of escaping the cauldron. What the freakin'...

Snape's eyes widened. "What's going on?"

I was so tempted to say _I dunno, I thought you were the Potions Master here, _but instead I grabbed Woodruff's spoon and held it out for the tiny figure to grab. It snatched the welcome lifeline and let me pull it out, dripping black slime onto the tabletop and burning little pits into its surface. Finding a vial of spring water among the supplies on my table, I poured it over the little figure, rinsing off the rest of the gunk. Underneath the black slime was a humanoid figure in silver and blue armor, weapon in hand and a wary stare fixed on the gawking Potions Professor.

It was my Jango figure, completely unscathed... except for the little fact that he was now alive and kicking.

"Holy moly," gaped Woodruff.

Jango whirled to face him, dual pistols drawn and legs locked in a battle stance. Woodruff backed up several steps, colliding with the wall. The bounty hunter proceeded to turn slowly in place, his helmet jerking from side to side as he surveyed the room. When he laid eyes on me, he gave me a long stare, then spun his guns with a flourish and holstered them.

"You're Emily Wall," he stated. "I remember you."

I blinked. "You do?"

The helmet bobbed in a sharp nod. "Winning Bidder at eighty-four American dollars, if I recall correctly. My previous owner was rather disappointed at the low price, of course, but there's no accounting for supply and demand on an Internet auction site..."

"But you must have only seen me for... I dunno... thirty seconds... Snape confiscated you pretty quickly."

"Snape?" He turned and gave the still-gawking Professor a cursory glance. "I remember you, too. You locked me in the junk drawer of your desk. At least, it looked like a junk drawer. You do realize if that sandwich stays in there any longer, it will probably start growing sentient mold?"

Snape opened and shut his mouth once or twice before he could speak. "What did you do, Wall?"

Jango barked a laugh. "He drops me in the potion, then has the gall to ask what YOU did..."

"I dunno what I did," I protested. Though I made a mental note to look up the Energizing Potion recipe later and figure out where I went wrong with it. Not to fix the error, of course -- I wanted the recipe for Live Action Figure Sludge as soon as possible.

"A zero!" Snape exclaimed. "And that... that... _thing _is confiscated..." He reached for Jango.

It all happened so fast that to this day I'm not sure whether Jango actually hit him with the flamethrower or whether, in the act of recoiling and smashing into another table, Snape caught his robes on fire from someone else's cauldron. All I know is that one instant Snape's hand was hovering over Jango, ready to snatch him, and the next instant he was beating at his arm, trying to extinguish the flames that had sprung up. The Gryffindors howled with laughter while most of the Slytherins stared in shock. Luther was the only one who tried to help -- if you count grabbing his own cauldron and flinging the contents onto Snape helping. At any rate, the fire was put out, but unfortunately Luther had managed to create a more-or-less perfect Energizing Potion, and the end result was a no-longer-flaming but now uncontrollably twitching limb.

"Class dismissed!" Snape bellowed, grabbing his arm in a vain attempt to keep it from jerking.

I grabbed Jango -- funny that he still felt like plastic, even though he was alive -- and stuffed him into the pocket of my robes. Then I collected my bag and cauldron and ducked out before Snape could throw another detention my way. With any luck, I'd have enough time to go back to my dorm, slip my cauldron under the bed, and make it to Herbology in time...

"Wall?"

I turned to see Woodruff coming toward me. He no longer looked upon me with suspicion -- instead, a nervous curiousity filled his long face.

"It's Emily," I corrected.

"Okay, Emily." He extended a hand. "Jacob."

"Um, hi," I replied, a little surprised that I was suddenly getting a positive greeting from a Slytherin. "I'd shake your hand, but my arms are kinda full."

"That's all right." He pointed to my bag. "I'll carry that for you, if you want."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay," I replied, still a little unsure but letting him take my bag anyway. The cauldron was heavy and would take both my hands anyhow.

"So," I ventured as we walked toward the dungeons, "you like Star Wars, huh?"

He looked at me blankly. "What's Star Wars?"

"Um... it's the movie my Jango Fett figure comes from."

"Oh. Well, I've never heard of Star Wars, but I figured that figure was valuable. I collect some Muggle figures myself."

"Really? What kinds?"

"Spiderman, Batman, X-men, the Hulk, all kinds. I like Muggle superheroes a lot." He pulled a plastic Superman out of his robes and showed it to me, then tucked it safely away. "Don't tell anyone, all right? If my dad ever found out, he'd have a fit. And a lot of the Slytherins like to rat to their parents about every little thing here."

"And then it eventually gets back to your parents," I concluded. "I know the feeling."

"To my dad, anyhow," Jacob replied. "My mum was killed in the war when I was a baby. The Ministry of Magic claims she was a Death Eater, but Dad says she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He looked down at his feet with a wistful sigh, and I felt a pang of empathy for the kid.

"My mom died when I was two," I told him. "I guess I'm lucky that I have a stepmom, though."

"Yeah, Dad never wanted to remarry after Mum died, so it's just been the two of us. He's great most of the time, but every time I want to do something he thinks is 'too Muggle,' like go to the cinema to see the new Superman movie, there's a big row. He doesn't like Muggles."

"I still don't understand why some wizards hate Muggles so much," I said with a little heat. "Granted, there are a lot of jerks in the Muggle world, but there's jerks in the wizard world too."

"Muggles hate wizards, too," Jacob pointed out. "In the old days they used to burn witches and wizards. A lot of innocent people died, most of them Muggles they mistook for wizards."

"True," I replied. "But they don't do that anymore."

"Yeah, but what if you started casting spells in front of them?" he countered. "I bet they'd hate you for being weird then. Muggles hate anything they can't explain away with science and logic, and those don't apply to magic."

Most Muggles hated me for being weird anyhow, but I could see his point. "It still doesn't make it right."

"True," he conceded. "Sorry. Read enough comic books and you learn a lot of interesting stuff about good vs. evil and right vs. wrong."

"No problem," I told him. "I'm just glad you don't hate me for being Mudblood like everyone else seems to."

"But you're a cool Mudblood," he replied. "And you stood up to Snape. That takes real guts..."

We rounded a corner to almost run smack into the Evil Trio and Luther, who blocked the way to the common room. Luther gave a little sneer and stepped forward, obviously the ringleader. His gaze moved to Jacob, and his sneer became a downright nasty laugh.

"Well, what have we got here?" he crowed. "The Mudblood's found a friend, and it's Wormwood!"

"Woodruff," corrected Jacob, flushing bright red and drawing his neck in as if trying to retract his head turtle-style.

"Whatever." He turned to me. "Figures you'd fall in with Wormwood. The poor git's only a step away from a Squib, I don't know how he ended up at Hogwarts..."

"Squib?" I repeated.

"Magic-less person born in a wizarding family," Melody supplied. "And he's hopeless with magic." She pointed at Jacob. "Almost a Squib."

"I'm NOT a Squib!" Jacob squeaked indignantly.

"Leave him alone," I growled. "What, it's not enough that you hate me, you have to hate him too? Just because his magic's a little whacked out?"

"Coming to his defense, then?" Charity grinned, drawing her wand. The other girls and Luther followed suit.

"You don't even know any good spells yet," I told them, though I wasn't sure of that at all.

"We can give it a shot," Luther replied. "_Stupef--"_

A furry gray shape hurtled down from the ceiling and latchet itself onto Charity's head. She screamed and dropped her wand, batting frantically at her new hairpiece and executing a crazy jig. An instant later, Jango launched himself out of my pocket, blasters drawn and jetpack blazing as he circled the trio, firing. The blaster bolts were far too small to do much damage, but they did serve to singe the Slytherins' brand-new robes and make them jump and yelp from the stinging bolts.

Hit by a sudden blast of inspiration, I set the cauldron down and plunged my hand into Jacob's pocket.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he demanded.

My fingers closed around a plastic figure, and I jerked it out and dunked it into the cauldron. The stuff bubbled and steamed, and I took the spoon handle from my own robes and dipped it in to fish the figure out.

"Whoops," I noted. "How many figures do you have in your robe, anyhow?"

"A few. Why, which one did you dunk?"

"I was trying to get Superman, but it looks like I got Spiderman instead," I replied.

The figure in question sprang from the spoon handle, still dripping with black potion, firing a thread-thin string in the air and swinging from it Tarzan-style. He landed smartly on top of Luther's head and fired more webbing down at the stunned Slytherin's head, sealing his mouth shut. Luther gave a muffled cry of indignation as he clawed at his mouth, then reached up to grab Spiderman. The superhero was too quick, though, leaping for the wall and clinging there as he shot out more blasts of web-stuff.

"What's going on in here?" asked Professor Draconis, rounding the corner. "Shouldn't you kids be on your way to class... HOO BOY! Sidney, why didn't you tell me there was a show going on?"

"'Cause I've been a little busy," the cat replied from his perch atop Charity's head, holding on for all he was worth as she struggled to swat him off.

Ethan laughed, obviously enjoying himself, then clapped his hands. "Okay, kids, enough's enough. You two, call off your friends. Sidney, let her go."

Sidney leaped down from Charity's head and loped toward his master. Jango and Spiderman quit firing and made their way back to Jacob and me. The other four Slytherins eventually calmed down, and they gave me dirty looks as they hustled off to class.

"You two, stay where you are," Ethan ordered, gesturing at the two of us. "Fettster, Spidey, come here, will ya?"

Hesitantly they jet-packed and web-slung their way to the Dragonkin, landing in his cupped hands and holding still as he examined them with a critical eye. After a little poking and muttering to himself, he nodded as if satisfied and handed them back.

"Living plastic? What'll they think of next? Or did they not come from the factory that way?" His gaze moved to the cauldron. "Or did that have a factor -- which I'm assuming it did, since poor Spidey looks to have had a dip in it?"

"It was supposed to be an Energizing Potion," I replied. "But I screwed it up, and Snape tried to punish me by dunking Jango in it. His packaging burned away, but..." I gestured to the former Mandalorian that now sat on my shoulder, inspecting his pistol nonchalantly.

"And Emily dunked Spiderman as backup, I see," Ethan noted. "Clever girl." He looked admiringly at the cauldron, then bent down and picked it up. "I'll give you the cauldron back, Em, but I'd really like to study this stuff. I'm a Potions Master myself, you know. And let's just keep this quiet, all right? No sense letting the whole school know yet."

"Yes, sir," Jacob replied.

"Thank you very much. See you in Dark Arts!" He strode jauntily away.

Jacob shook his head. "He's an odd one."

"He's cool," I replied with a grin.

"Don't you two have Herbology in a few minutes?" Spiderman piped up from Jacob's shoulder.

"Getting there," I told him, taking my bag back. "Hold your horses, web-head."

As we headed out to the greenhouses, I couldn't help but grin to myself. If Ethan okayed this stuff for student use, there was no telling what kind of mayhem I could stir up this year. Between my Star Wars figures -- if I could somehow wrangle them back from Snape -- and Jacob's superhero collection, we could build our own private army of living action figures. The siblings would never dare mess with my stuff again. And the Slytherins would think twice about messing with the geek from here on out.

I patted Jango's head gently with a finger before gently grabbing him and tucking him into my pocket.


	10. Who Let the Dogs Out?

**Chapter 10 -- Who Let the Dogs Out?**

I'd have to say that my favorite scene in _The Empire Strikes Back _isn't the pivotal "I am your father" scene, though that one certainly comes in a close second. It isn't the now-classic scene where Yoda lifts Luke's X-wing out of the swamp, though that one's up there on the list too. It isn't Boba Fett's appearance, or the adrenaline-pumping asteroid-field battle. And it certainly isn't the cheesy I-love-you-I-know banter Han and Leia share in the carbon freezing chamber, a scene that still makes me cringe. My favorite scene from Episode Five is the moment in Yoda's hut when Luke realizes the funny green alien that stole his flashlight is actually the revered Jedi Master he's been seeking all this time. Yup, there's some kind of sadistic streak in me that likes to see the hero get a good kick in the pants.

Not to say I haven't been guilty of Luke's folly. Just like the strapping young Skywalker, who built up a mental image of a noble and stately Jedi warrior but instead got a backward-talking swamp elf with a bizarre sense of humor, I too had often developed a stereotype only to have it shattered later. Back in Oakland, I'd been convinced that all English girls were rich snobs who spent most of their time drinking tea, riding horses, and talking like they came out of a Jane Austen novel. (Matilda's attempts at Victorian romance didn't exactly dispel the stereotype.) It only took a few months of attending school with the Brit girls to discover they weren't that much different from American girls. Not that it was an improvement, mind -- girls will be catty backstabbing harpies no matter their homeland.

And apparently I hadn't learned my lesson yet. Because a few more weeks into the school year I got another wake-up call regarding my fellow students.

Life had settled into a routine for me by now, even if it wasn't an exceptionally pleasant one. Wake up, do a quick check for pranks of any sort, eat breakfast with Jacob or the twins (who seemed to delight in driving Gryffindor and Slytherin alike bonkers by inviting me to their end of the table), go to classes, lunch, more classes, dinner with the twins (at which point I'd report the various goings-on in Slytherin for their amusement and evil plotting), and more often than not a detention with Snape before dragging myself to bed -- again pausing to check for prank stuff before climbing in. I wasn't sure why, but I just couldn't keep my mouth shut around Snape. Add that to the fact that my Jango figure had bluntly refused to be shut up in my trunk for his own protection and insisted on riding around in my pocket all day, and I'd climbed a few spaces up the list of people Snape would love to jinx if he could get away with it.

One day at breakfast I had a seat and began picking at my toast, not really in the mood to actually eat anything. I'd managed to avoid a rather nasty surprise courtesy of the Evil Trio when Jango had alerted me to an itch-powder bomb that had been planted in my bookbag, and a quick visit to Professor Draconis defused it. But on my way out of his office, I'd gotten another unwanted surprise -- and a rude introduction to the school's poltergeist.

So there I sat, still dripping slightly from the water balloons Peeves had launched at me, repeatedly stabbing at my toast with the butter knife as if it were the cause of all my problems, when Jacob sat down across from me. Beside him was a somewhat older Hufflepuff girl who had the same longish face but with hazel eyes and chesnut hair. The Slytherins turned almost as one to glower at her, but she ignored them.

"Bully a piece of toast your own size, mate," he advised.

I glowered.

"Yikes, you're right cheerful this morning." He began piling bacon onto his plate. "Emily, meet Dolores Claycomber. She's my cousin."

_Who names their kid Dolores? _was my first thought, but I kept it to myself. "Hey, Dolores."

"Call me Clay," she advised. "Everyone else does." She extended her hand. "Hufflepuff, fourth year."

"Slytherin, first year, though I think everyone already knows that," I replied. "And I'm having a pretty rough day right now, so sorry I'm not a barrel of laughs."

"I noticed," she observed, looking me up and down. "What's that in your pocket? Do you have a pet toad or something?"

"Toad nothing," grumbled Jango, hefting himself out of my pocket until he was visible from the chest up.

Her eyes lit up. "So you have one too!"

"He's a living action figure, like my Spiderman!" gushed Jacob, gently scooping the web-headed superhero out of his bookbag and setting him on the table. "And it's thanks to Emily that I have him!"

Clay's eyes sparkled. "Jacob told me about your little discovery in Potions. And I thought maybe, if I tracked you down, you might be willing to share that discovery..."

"What, you collect action figures too?"

In reply she gave a sly smile and opened her robe front. Stitched on the inside lining against her chest was a badge of some sort, one that looked vaguely familiar and had the letters SGC on it.

"Stargate," she explained.

"Oh yeah, my dad loves that show," I replied. "I've seen it a few times too. It's pretty good."

Jacob grinned. "Nice to know you're not the only science fiction fanatic at Hogwarts, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah," I agreed. "Though it must've been nice to come here knowing your cousin was a geek, huh?"

"Yeah, it did make things a little easier," Jacob replied.

"You were lucky, Jacob," Clay said morosely, stirring her eggs around. "You at least had someone to talk to. My first year and half my second were pure misery. I had NO ONE. Even the teachers thought I was bizarre. I mean, most 'normal' students didn't quote Jack O'Neil or offer theories on how magic was really advanced alien technology embedded in our DNA. It wasn't until halfway through my second year that I finally discovered something."

"Discovered something?" I repeated. "What?"

"That I wasn't the only geek in Hogwarts." She leaned forward and spoke almost in a whisper. "There are others. Not all like Star Wars or Stargate, of course -- there are Trekkies and Lord of the Rings fans and anime fans and almost any other kind of fan you can think of. But they keep to themselves, or they do their best to blend in. They don't want to attract attention by admitting they adore the weirder aspects of Earth pop culture. Because if you thought being a geek in a Muggle family was bad, try being a geek in a wizarding family... and admitting to your parents that instead of Wizard Cards or Quiddich teams, you're interested in a Muggle television show."

I nodded. "I can see that. Since so many people in your society pride themselves on being wizard and consider Muggles second-class, no offense, they'd naturally look down on wizard geeks."

"But if the wizard geeks keep to themselves, how do you know about them?" asked Jacob.

"You figure out signs," she replied. "Unexplained packages from home. Strange bulges in pockets. Concealed comic books in textbooks. Things that slip into their speech at odd moments." She pointed at a black-haired kid at the Hufflepuff table. "Take him. Last year he quoted a Star Trek episode in his essay for History of Magic. Most kids wouldn't have caught it, but I've seen a little 'Next Generation' myself and recognized the quote."

I suddenly thought of Melody and the weird package she'd received and hidden that first morning. Could she be a geek in disguise? One package wasn't quite enough to be a defining factor, though...

"So you friends with these geeks?" I asked.

"No," she replied with a sigh. "Most of them wouldn't admit their fandoms unless you slipped them Veritaserum. The most I can do is simply take comfort in the fact that I'm not the only one..."

Then I was struck by the most outrageous idea yet.

"What if," I proposed, "we start approaching these geeks? Not confront them about their fandoms, but just casually let them know that the geeks need to start hanging out together if they're going to survive? There's strength in numbers, you know."

"You mean form a fan club?" Jacob asked, grinning excitedly.

"Wasn't quite thinking that, but it works," I replied.

"A formal fan club will take time to organize," Jango pointed out, climbing out of my pocket and jet-packing to the table. "That and you'll need officers and a meeting place..."

"We'll discuss the formalities later," I told him. "For now... hmmm... what's a place here where students can hang out without being picked on or harassed by certain teachers? I mean, we're probably going to have students from all the houses, we can't just use a common room..."

"The library, if we keep things quiet," suggested Clay.

"And there's usually an hour or so of free time after dinner," Jacob added. "Or weekends, we get those off."

"Okay, then, let's get the ball rolling. Clay, approach all the geeks you know about and tell them to meet in the library this Sunday -- no, better make it next Sunday to give us some time -- at six in the evening. Jacob, keep an eye out and see if you can spot anyone else who might be a fan of something. Spiderman, help him out. Jango, you and I'll do the same. And keep this quiet. If a certain Potions master discovers what we're up to, things could get ugly."

Jacob nodded. "Got it."

"All right." I pushed my plate aside and stood. "See you two later."

_Break..._

In the two weeks leading up to our planned meeting, however, I had a few other pieces of business to take care of... and an unexpected surprise.

My first order of business lay in the twins -- who, by a stroke of fortune, spent detention with me that night.

"What's up?" Fred asked as we scrubbed the floor of the Potions classroom together. It happened to be a disgusting job, seeing as the third years had managed to make no less than four cauldrons explode during class earlier.

"I need to ask the two of you a favor," I told them, working at a greenish blotch beneath a desk.

"We don't do pro bono work," George told me with a grin.

"What if I told you that Montague just got a new broom shipped to him by his parents?" I asked.

"Isn't that his third in a month?" asked Fred.

"How often does the bloke crash anyhow?" asked George.

"He doesn't." I grimaced. "He claims he needs one for rainy day practices, one for good weather, and a special one just for game days. If you want my opinion, I think it's just a way to flaunt his family's money."

Fred grinned. "One or two booby-trapped brooms coming up," he told his brother merrily.

"Smashing," George agreed. "What do you need?"

I jerked my head toward the front of the room, where Snape was reclining against his desk and giving us a watchful glower. I noticed his face was slightly blackened as if smudged with soot. Professor Draconis hadn't been kidding when he'd said he would harass the Potions Professor all year.

"I need a distraction next Sunday around six," I told them. "Can you rig something to keep Snape away from the library for a few hours?"

"Easier done than said," Fred grinned.

"Why, what are you planning?" asked George. "Simple curiousity..."

"Just forming a club," I replied innocently.

"Well, take as long as you need," Fred assured me. "We'll keep Snape's attention for you."

"Hell, you can take all night if you like," George added. "We've been waiting for an excuse to prank Snape."

I smiled. "Thanks, you two."

"Not a problem," Fred replied, attacking a blackened spot on the floor.

The next order of business was going to be tricker, and unfortunately it involved catching Snape in a slightly good mood. The problem was the man seemed to be limited to two facial expressions -- a disinterested glower and an evil snarl. It didn't help that Professor Draconis kept popping up to verbally spar with him, fling fireballs, and generally be a pain in the posterior. For the first time since coming to Hogwarts I began to dislike Ethan.

Finally a calm day arrived. The twins had kept their antics down, no one had seriously botched their potions up in class, and judging by the lack of scorch marks on Snape's robes Ethan had laid off on the annoyance for now. Snape wasn't growling at anyone, docking points every time a Gryffindor breathed out of turn, or handing out zeroes like campaign pamphlets during an election month. He was even almost _smiling _when class finally ended and people began filing out the door. If there ever was a time to approach the Potions Professor, it had to be now!

I walked up to the desk hesitantly. He was reclining in his chair, eyes closed, a smirk on his lips that kept threatening to curl up at the corners. He looked almost peaceful for a change...

"What is it, Wall?" he demanded, not opening his eyes.

"I... wanted to ask you a question."

"What is it?"

"Can I have my action figures back? I mean, you weren't planning on keeping them for the whole year, were you?"

His jet-black eyes opened, and he gave me a glower as best he could through half-shut lids. "That all depends. Do you intend to have another lucky accident with your next potions lesson?"

Jango, in his usual spot in my pocket, raised one hand in a gesture I'm sure meant something derogatory in his galaxy.

"Honestly, Professor, I had no idea how I did that potion," I told him, which was a half-truth. I couldn't remember where I'd gone wrong, though I was determined to find out.

"Hmmm." Snape shut his eyes again, seeming to consider. "Seeing as your Muggle toys have proven to be a disruption in the past, I'm afraid the answer has to be no."

"I don't even play with them!" I retorted. "They're display only."

"The girls in your dormitory say they are a distraction while they are trying to sleep."

"They can close their drapes, then," I retorted.

"The answer is still no. They will be returned to you at the end of the year. Now go."

I snorted and stormed out of the classroom. So much for that...

"TUUUUUUNAAAAAAA!"

I sidestepped as Sidney came hurtling down from the rafters, missing his intended target of my head and landing heavily on his paws on the floor. He shook his head briskly, licked at his fur, and turned to face me as casually as if he hadn't just attempted to jump me.

"You learn quick," he noted. "Last three students I ambushed didn't move their butts in time..."

"What's with yelling 'tuna?'" I asked.

"Everyone needs a battle cry. Why not have one that makes sense for once?"

"What makes sense for a cat doesn't necessarily make sense for a human," I replied. "Walk with me to Herbology?"

"Why walk when you can ride?" he replied, jumping onto a suit of armor, then leaping onto my shoulder.

"Lazy cat," I chided, but headed for the greenhouses anyhow. "At least Garfield was right on one point."

"Har har," he laughed sarcastically. "Why'd the greaseball keep you after anyhow?"

"He didn't. I stayed behind to ask him if I could get my action figures back."

"Any luck?"

"Nope. He says I won't get them back 'til the end of the year."

"Ouch." He cocked his head to one side. "Well, I might be able to help you... for a price."

"How about a change from tuna?" I asked. "I can ask my folks to send some salmon." Dad had thought my request for canned tuna odd, but when I'd waxed eloquent in my next letter about Sidney and his gift of gab, Athena and Egyptus had fallen in love with him and demanded the tuna be sent. Hopefully they still liked him enough to grant this request too.

"Don't like canned salmon," Sidney replied. "Smoked only. Wild, not farm-raised."

"You'll get it."

"Done, then. You'll get your figures back. Maybe not all at once, but eventually."

"Thanks, Sid."

"No problem. Oh, and Ethan wants to let you know he figured out where you went goofy on that Energizing Potion. He'll get you the recipe next class period."

"Awesome. Sure took him long enough, though."

"Tell me about it. He's not as great a Potions master as he wants people to believe, man. And every time his stuff explodes I get the brunt of it. Do you know how nasty it is to get covered in gunk? Especially when you clean your fur with your own tongue? Blech. It's a wonder I still have a sense of taste."

"I'll take your word for it."

I didn't have as much luck with my next order of business -- finding fellow geeks. Clay hadn't been exaggerating when she told me they liked to keep hidden. In the time before the meeting I managed to uncover two potential geeks -- a fifth-year Hufflepuff who blew his cover by accidentally dropping a copy of _Fellowship of the Ring _while digging for his Transfiguration book, and a second-year Ravenclaw who hummed the Trogdor song while he was distracted and whose every other sentence was "Holy crap!" Neither of them had taken too kindly to being approached by a Slytherin, especially one with a reputation for weirdness. And both seemed instantly suspicious when I had mentioned the meeting.

"What are you playing at?" had been the Hufflepuff's reply, and he had stalked off before I could say anything else.

"Sorry, I have plans for this Sunday," the Ravenclaw had insisted.

"The meeting's next Sunday," I had retorted.

"Oh... um... sorry, I meant next Sunday." And he had taken off.

By Saturday evening I still didn't know if they were planning on showing up. Judging by the somber expressions on Clay and Jacob's faces at dinner, I could tell they hadn't had much luck either. Even Jango and Spidey looked gloomy through their masks.

"This is going to be a bust, I can tell," I muttered, running my finger along the edge of my goblet. "What was I thinking?"

"We can't give up," Jacob insisted. "Sure, things are off to a rough start, but anything worth doing is hard. Maybe they won't come to this meeting, but if we keep having meetings they'll know we're serious."

"I vote to at least have this meeting," said Clay. "If no one shows up, we'll at least know it was a bad idea. If a few people show up, good and well, we'll keep doing this. Either way, we'll at least have an answer."

I still wasn't sure, but I agreed anyhow before getting up and heading for the dungeons. Most Saturday evenings kids gathered in the Great Hall for chess and Exploding Snap and Gobstones, but I wasn't in the mood for games tonight. I figured I'd head back to the dorm and read _Darth Bane_ (thank the Force Snape hadn't confiscated my books yet) or write a letter home. I'd already written this week, but it couldn't hurt to write again...

Just as I was descending the staircase, it shifted under my feet and lurched to the side. I grabbed the railing and hung on for all I was worth as the stairs swung into their new position and settled into place with what sounded suspiciously like a pleased chuckle. Once I was sure they would stay put, I continued down. In retrospect, I probably should have gone back up and found a different path to the dungeons, but hey, Skywalkers aren't the only kids who get too cocky for their own good.

I was in an unfamiliar hallway now, completely dark except for a bar of silver light slanting in from a large crack in the ceiling, a crack that exposed a blue-black sky and a brilliant white orb of a moon. From somewhere in the distance I could hear the drip of water, as regular and foreboding as the ticking of a grandfather clock. My footsteps on the flagstones sounded like a thudding heart, and an eerie chill issued from the walls and forced me into the middle of the corridor. I shivered and pressed on, hoping beyond hope that I'd get to the dungeons soon... where was that blasted entry-wall anyhow...

I stopped short in my tracks, feeling my pulse jump. A pair of gleaming yellow eyes had appeared in the darkness before me, eyeing me coldly. I got ready to scream or make a run for it...

A shape slunk into the patch of moonlight -- a cat shape.

_Oh good, it's Mrs. Norris _was my first thought. Then, _Oh crap, it's Mrs. Norris _came next.

The tattle-tale cat gave a sickly meow, then darted past me and loped off to find her master. I pulled out my wand, whispered _"Lumos,_" and looked around for a hiding place.

There was a door to my right -- battered and creepy-looking, but quite welcome to my eyes -- and I yanked on its handle. It was locked. I cursed silently until I remembered the spell Flitwick had taught us a few days ago. I had no idea why the teachers even bothered telling kids how to use an unlocking spell, but I guess they figured proper protocol would keep us from entering locked rooms. Ah well, their loss.

_"Alohalamora!" _I shouted, and the door popped open. Without thinking I ducked inside and slammed it, then leaned against the door to catch my breath.

And lost it again.

I wasn't alone -- a large gray wolf lay in the corner, panting slightly. Its eyes glowed amber in the dim light provided by a single lantern set in a sconce on the wall, light that also glinted rather disturbingly on unusually long teeth. Its long silver-gray fur formed an almost lion-like ruff about its neck. When it saw me its tail thumped against the wall, and it whined hopefully.

"Um, no," I told it, fighting to keep calm. "I'm not gonna be your dinner, but thanks for asking." And I turned and tried to open the door. Just my luck, it locked itself from the outside.

The wolf snarled, its lips curling back to fully expose its teeth. I dropped my hand, and it stopped snarling and gave a goofy doggy grin. Well, I guess I could assume it was harmless... for the moment, anyway.

"Well, seeing as neither of us are going anywhere..." I settled down in the opposite corner from the wolf, doing my best to get comfortable. Hopefully Jacob would notice I was missing at breakfast and sound an alarm -- I couldn't count on the Evil Trio alerting anyone that I'd gone missing at night.

It was the longest night of my life -- hey, you try getting any sleep with a wolf-face studying you all night, deciding if you were worth disemboweling and having for a late-night snack. In the meantime I did get a fairly good look at the rest of the room's contents, which frankly weren't much. There was a bowl with some water in it, presumably for the wolf, but no food. There was also a silver goblet that smoked slightly but was otherwise empty. I wondered if it was some sort of charm or leftovers from a potion.

Somewhere along the line the lantern burned out, and I must have dozed off awhile. The next thing I was aware of was a painful whining and howling that jarred me awake faster than any alarm clock ever could.

The wolf was obviously in agony, writhing and whimpering and contorting horribly. Strangely enough, there was no fear in its eyes -- just a sort of pained resignation. I wanted to go over and comfort it, but common sense held me back and told me that trying to touch an animal in pain would just get me mauled.

Then I wanted to be sick. The creature was shifting its shape, its fur vanishing and its limbs lengthening, its face shrinking like plastic thrown into a fire. Of course it would be a werewolf -- the full moon should have been a clue...

Then I recognized who it was, and I didn't know whether to laugh or be even more scared.


	11. When Toy Story Goes Horribly Wrong

**Chapter 11 -- When Toy Story Goes Horribly Wrong**

It was a combined team of Jango and McGonagall that finally found us that morning, the bounty hunter zipping into the room to make sure I was all right and the Transfiguration Professor stalking in behind with a scowl. After making sure neither I nor the werewolf had taken any harm during the night (though I'm not sure she should have worried about the wolf, in my opinion), she ordered us to follow her and led us out of the dank corridor, which wasn't brightened much by morning. No one spoke much -- really, what was there to say?

McGonagall took us straight to a wing of the castle that looked vaguely hospital-ish, sat us down on a bench, and gave me a stern glower, arms folded. "Miss Wall, you have exactly thirty seconds to explain what you were doing away from your dormitory at all hours of the night."

Had it been Snape or Ethan -- or even Flitwick or Sprout -- I probably would have shot off a smart-mouthed answer. Snape would have deserved it, Ethan would have played along with a sly retort, and any other teacher probably would have just smiled and made a comment about sass-mouthed Americans before docking a few points from Sith-erin (not that I cared much on that point). But McGonagall... McGonagall gave off a definite "don't mess" aura. And her expression at the moment was such that I don't think she would have tolerated Han Solo sassing her at this moment, let alone a student.

So I explained about the moving staircase and getting lost on the way to the common room after dinner. She seemed to consider a moment, as if trying to figure out if I was lying or not, then nodded.

"Well, I can only say that you were very lucky," she noted. "Not many can spend the night in the same chamber as a werewolf and live to tell the tale." She regarded us both now. "Not a word of this affair reaches anyone. And Emily, please keep the werewolf's identity secret. There will be severe reprecussions if I find her identity has reached the rest of the students."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"Good. Now stay here a moment while I talk to Madam Pomfrey."

"What about breakfast?" I asked. Hey, I hadn't eaten much at dinner last night and was hungry. My stomach was making werewolf-ish sounds of its own now.

"You missed it," McGonagall replied. "But I can have something brought for the two of you." And she strode off.

I turned to the werewolf now, who was hunched miserably as if sick. Part of me wanted to gloat a little that this student had belittled me for being so weird and out of place in Slytherin when they themselves could have been called a freak by the snobs in that house. But another part of me felt some sympathy. Hey, it couldn't be easy dealing with a condition like this. It was probably the wizarding world equivalent of epilepsy or diabetes -- something that one just had to deal with to the best of their ability.

I debated between a snide comment and a sympathetic one for a few moments, then settled for something halfway neutral: "It's not contagious, is it?"

Melody lifted her head a little but didn't look at me. "Not unless I bite you."

"Ah. Um... you're not planning on it, are you?"

She shook her head, her tangle of red hair obscuring most of her face. "Usually it's just in wolf form that I... I feel like biting..."

"Then why didn't you bite me in the classroom?"

"Potion," she replied quietly, her voice soft with shame. "There's nothing yet that... that can cure it or prevent the change... but there's a potion that can calm me down... make me harmless..."

"Okay," I replied, satisfied, but evidently some kind of dam had burst when she'd answered my question, because she kept talking, her sentences interspersed with loud sniffs as she struggled to maintain her composure.

"I was bit when I was six... almost infected my dad the first time I changed... my parents used to lock me up in the cellar during the full moon... I went wild, tore apart shelves and anything else I could get my teeth on... dark places still scare me now... Dad pressured the Department of Magical Creatures to develop a potion to help me... I still have nightmares sometimes about before, though..."

"Melody," I began, but she kept going, sniffing and wiping her nose on the sleeve of the too-big robe McGonagall had given her.

"Dumbledore arranged things so I could go to school... Snape brewed the potion... Hagrid took me to the room and locked me in after I changed... they promised me a light so I wouldn't remember the cellar as a child and panic..."

"Melody," I tried again, but she broke down at that moment.

"When I came here, I was so scared I'd be seen as a freak," she sobbed. "I begged my parents to homeschool me, but they insisted I come to Hogwarts like they did. When I found out that a Mudbl... a Muggle had been sorted into our house, and one that was a freak to even her fellow Muggles, I felt so relieved... someone else was going to be picked on and not me..."

She buried her face in her hands and wept. I stared at her for a bit, a little unnerved. Emotional women have always weirded me out -- especially so when their names happen to be Matilda or Hillary, but Melody getting hysterical on me was still uncomfortable.

"Look, Mel... can I call you that?" She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no either, so I went ahead. "Look Mel, don't feel bad about it."

"But I was so cruel to you!"

"Not as cruel as the other girls." That was true. While Felicity had been openly disdainful and Charity had freaked out over everything Muggle in my belongings, Melody had mostly just played along with the other girls. And the reason for that had come out -- she had already narrowly avoided being labeled as the freak of Slytherin for being a werewolf, and she had no desire to be labeled as a freak for defending the Mudblood.

"I still didn't do anything to help you. I'll bet you hate me now. I'll bet you want to rub my nose in this..."

"Why would I want to do that? Okay, so I'm a little cheesed off that you joined in with the other girls, but I can kind of understand it at the same time. So I'm not gonna hold a grudge against you. Let's just start over."

She sniffed, blew her nose on the robe sleeve, and nodded.

"All right then." I held out my hand. "Emily Wall."

"Melody Fenris." She shook my hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

Jango coughed pointedly from his perch on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, flyboy," I muttered. "Jango, this is Melody. Mel, meet Jango Fett."

"Um... hi," she replied, extending her hand.

"Always a pleasure to meet a lady," he told her, taking her index finger in one hand and bowing like a courtier.

She giggled. "Where did he come from? He's too small to be a house elf... is he a pixie or fairy in a costume?"

"Nope, he's an action figure. Emphasis on 'action.'"

"Really?" she replied. "I know they make action figures of Quidditch players and magic beasts, but those only move around. They don't really interact with you..."

"Remember the first day of Potions?" I reminded her. "He's the figure Snape dropped in the pot."

"I'm sorry, I didn't see it. I was on the other side of the classroom, and I was having problems with my own potion."

"Long story short -- I screwed up my potion and it brought Jango to life."

"Wicked! Did you bring any others to life?"

"None of my other figures, no. Though Jacob Woodruff and I brought his Spiderman to life."

"Who's Spiderman?"

I opened my mouth to explain, but Jango tugged on my ear to get my attention. "Invite her to the meeting tonight," he suggested.

"What meeting?" she asked.

"Jacob, his cousin, and I are starting a club," I told her. "It's meant to be a geek thing, but there's no rules saying other students can't come." Yet, anyhow.

"I'd love to come!" she smiled. "I've never been part of a real club before!"

"Great! Tonight after dinner, in the library. Be there. Oh, and don't let any of the other girls know about this, all right?"

"Right," she vowed. "In fact, we never had this discussion."

"Perfect. See you tonight."

_Break..._

Four.

Four lousy people, including myself, gathered around a table in the library, three of us carrying bookbags bulging with sci-fi paraphenilia, the fourth holding a notebook as if appointing herself minute-taker of the meeting. Okay, six people were present if you counted the two living action figures perched on the back of an empty chair, Jango fiddling with a blaster and Spidey doing a handstand out of sheer boredom. Our first meeting looked to be a bust.

"Well, I suppose we should get started," Clay said at last. "Emily, are you sure Snape is taken care of?"

"Positive," I replied. Fred and George had handled the Snape problem by convincing one of the castle's many suits of armor to follow the greasy-haired Professor wherever he went, quoting random Monty Python phrases all the while. When I'd passed the unlikely duo of Potions Master and yammering metal guy on my way to the library, Snape had looked about ready to rip out his hair.

"Why was that armor asking people to 'bring out your dead?'" asked Melody, furrowing her brow.

"Long story," I told him.

"Anyhow," Clay continued, "I believe our first order of business is to elect officers..."

"Excuse me?"

We all looked up to see a nervous curly-haired Gryffindor eyeing our table. He carried a large cardboard box in his hands and had a nervous look on his round face.

"Is this where... um... where the science fiction club is meeting?"

"Yeah, it is," Jacob said unsurely.

He looked oddly at me, Jacob, and Melody. "Sure are a lot of Slytherins here."

"House affiliation means absolutely nothing in this club," Clay informed him. "As long as you're with us, you cease to be a Gryffindor. You're just another geek, another fan loyal to your chosen fandom. If you can't handle that, you're free to leave."

He shook his head frantically. "No, no, I'm cool with that. I just didn't think of Slytherins as being sci-fi fans." He balanced the box on his knee and reached out a hand. "Chisulo Crothers."

"So you decided to come!" Jacob grinned, shaking his hand.

"Sorry for blowing you off earlier," he told Jacob. "I was just nervous that it was a joke of some sort..."

Two more kids shuffled up at that point -- the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff I'd questioned earlier. The Hufflepuff carried a stack of _Lord of the Rings _books and wore a copy of the One Ring on a chain around his neck. The Ravenclaw carried a stuffed The Cheat and wore a T-shirt with Homestar Runner on the front. I smiled and motioned for them to take seats.

"Thank you for coming," Clay told them. "Your names?"

"Daniel McHurley," the LOTR fan answered.

"Jonathan Tandy, but you can call me John," the Homestar Runner fan put in.

"Melody, write down everyone's names," Clay told her. "Um, you don't mind if we make you secretary, do you?"

"Of course not!" she replied, simply delighted to be included. "Shall I write down everyone's fandoms too?"

"If you'd like," Clay replied. "As for the other officers..."

"How many people did you invite to this thing?" asked Daniel.

I looked up to see three more people -- a Ravenclaw girl and two Hufflepuff boys -- walking toward our table. I waved them over with a grin. This wasn't turning out to be a bust after all!

"I'm Demeter Frey," the girl introduced. "These are Robert Finch and Hans Deckter."

The boys waved. I noticed Hans had a stack of what looked like manga in his hands, and Robert wore a Starfleet Insignia pinned to his robes. There was no obvious sign of the girl's fandom, however. Maybe she was just curious.

Once it became apparent no one else was going to show up, Clay resumed speaking.

"Our first order of business is to appoint officers. We already have Melody serving as secretary. Any objections?"

No one made a move to protest, so Clay moved on. "Any nominations for president?"

"Emily!" Jacob announced, pointing at me. "It was her idea!"

"No way!" I replied. "I've had no leadership experience whatsoever."

"My vote is for an older student to be the president," Demeter put in. "Like Clay, since she's already doing a good job of organizing things."

Clay blushed. "Um... any objections?"

No one objected.

"Then will you be my vice president, Emily?" she asked.

"Sure," I replied. Hey, vice president was fine by me, and it wasn't a job with a whole lot of hassle.

"We don't need a treasurer, since there aren't dues," Jacob said. "So I think we're fine officer-wise."

"That's settled, then." Clay considered. "Now we need to decide on some rules."

"You already mentioned the first rule," Chisulo noted. "House divisions don't exist here."

"Right," Clay replied. "As far as this club is concerned, the houses don't exist. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins are all equal here. Same goes for purebloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns, boys and girls, first years to seventh years. We're all equal in the eyes of the club. If you don't like it, you're free to leave now."

There was a general murmur of agreement.

"Second rule," I cut in. "We need regular meeting times. And we need to make sure it doesn't conflict with anyone's schedules."

"Well, we are geeks," John pointed out, tossing his The Cheat idly in the air. "Not like we're star athletes or super popular or anything, so we don't exactly have parties or Quidditch practices to collide with meeting times."

"True," Clay replied. "But there are other clubs as well."

"Chess club meets on Saturdays," Robert pointed out.

"Gobstones is Wednesday evenings," Jacob added.

"Anything Sunday evenings?" asked Melody.

"Not to my knowlege," Clay replied. "Does anyone object to weekly meetings on Sundays after dinner?"

No one did, so into the rule book it went.

"Is there anything else we need to cover?" asked Clay.

"What does a geek club DO?" asked Hans. "What's the purpose of this club?"

"Don't you ever feel lonely?" I asked. "Don't you wish there were others in Hogwarts who understood your obsession? They don't have to like it, but just to understand it, to know what it feels like to love something so passionately you devote yourself to it and identify yourself by it... Haven't you ever wanted to feel like part of a community that understands that passion?"

Hans nodded.

"That's what we're providing," Clay told him. "This club isn't to convert others to our fandoms. It's simply a way for us to connect, to enjoy and share our passions, be they Stargate, Star Wars, superheroes, Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, or funky Internet Flash cartoons." She winked at John, who blushed. "I think I speak for all of us when I say I'm tired of being ashamed for being a wizard who loves a Muggle science fiction show. I'm proud of who I am and what I love, and I say it's time we stood together and stopped slinking around in the shadows! The Hogwarts Science Fiction Club has spoken!"

Everyone whooped at that statement, even Jango and Spiderman. That was a mistake.

"Children!" howled Madam Pince, the librarian. "If you insist on behaving like barbarians in the library, I will have you thrown out!"

"Sorry, ma'am," I told her. In a quieter tone I muttered "Man, what's her problem? Twist in her brastrap?"

"Search me," Demeter replied. "She's just always like that."

"So what do we do at meetings?" asked Robert. "Just talk about our fandoms?"

"We'll agree at each meeting what we're going to do at the next meeting," Clay replied. "We may play a game, we may watch a film -- don't laugh, I hear Dumbledore has something rigged that can play a Muggle DVD on the Floo network -- we may have a discussion... there are many things we could do."

"So what about this meeting?" asked Hans. "Or was this one just to set down the rules..."

A loud whoosh and a heavy thud... and everyone shrieked in fear as a winged form landed in a crouch on the table.

"Professor Draconis, do not disrupt the students while they're in the library!" cried Madam Pince.

"Sorry, miss," he told her cheekily. He turned to Clay. "Hello, Mrs. Prez!"

"Hello," she told him, quickly regaining her composure. "What brings you here, Professor?"

"Oh, word on the street is there's a geek club forming here at the school," he replied with a grin.

"News travels fast, huh?" I asked Ethan.

"At the speed of Sidney," he replied. He climbed down from the table and had a seat between a stunned Demeter and a gaping Daniel. "Anyhow, I wanted to work out a proposition for you kids."

"Proposition?" Jacob repeated.

"Proposition," Ethan replied, nodding. "And here are my terms up front. I want to be an honorary member of this club."

"Are you serious?" asked Clay, startled.

"As serious as I can get -- which isn't much, granted, but that's beside the point," he rejoined. "Anyhow, here's the deal -- you kids let me join your club, and not only will I make sure certain teachers and faculty members don't interrupt said meetings, but I'll help you make things a little more interesting."

"How?" asked Jacob hesitantly.

"Weeeeeelllll..." He turned to me. "Em, what's one mainstay of most sci-fi fandoms?"

I thought a minute... then spotted Jango and Spiderman on the back of their chair and came up with an answer. "Action figures."

"Righto." He pulled out his bag, lifted out a sealed metal canister, and plunked it on the table. "Anyone bring an action figure?"

"I did." Demeter pulled a figure from her robes and handed it over.

"Jack Sparrow, eh?" Ethan noted, holding the figure up and examining it. "A _Pirates of the Caribbean _fan, I take it?"

She blushed.

"Well, Demeter, how would you like Jack Sparrow here to get the potion treatment?"

"The potion treatment?"

"Yeah, like the Fettster and the web-head over there." He pointed to Jango and Spidey. "Your own living action figure."

"You can do that? Really?" She grinned so wide I thought she was going to split her face apart.

"Really really," he replied, and as if to prove his point he lifted the lid of the canister and dropped Jack Sparrow in. He waited a moment, silently ticking off the seconds, then reached in and pulled a dripping figure out. Jack spluttered and cursed roundly in Ethan's grip, wiping black slime from his mouth and eyes.

"Jack!" she squealed, cupping her hands and taking him. "It's really Jack Sparrow!"

Chisulo fumbled frantically for his box. "Please, Mr. Draconis, do mine next!" He pulled something out of the box and slid it toward the Dragonkin.

"What, a toy truck?" Ethan inquired, raising the vehicle with a puzzled expression.

"Truck nothing! It's Optimus Prime! Please put him in there!"

Ethan shrugged and dipped the toy semi truck. After a few seconds he pulled it out and set it on the table... where it promptly unfolded itself into the shape of a masked robot, its gaze sweeping the table with a hint of amusement.

"What is that?" asked Jacob.

"Transformers!" Chisulo grinned happily. "More than meets the eye!"

"I brought action figures!" gushed John, digging in his pockets. "They make Homestar Runner figures!"

"Do some of mine!" demanded Robert, thrusting a Spock figure at Ethan.

"All right, kids, one at a time," Ethan laughed, taking figure after figure and dunking it in the potion. Davy Jones, Superman, the Fantastic Four, Strong Bad, Jack O'Neil, Spock, Captain Kirk, assorted elves and dwarves, a handful of anime figures I didn't recognize... all of those and more got dunked. Ethan seemed to be having a blast, and the club members became more and more excited every time a figure came to life.

"Oh, this reminds me, Em -- Sidney liberated your collection! I have it all right here!" He raised a General Grievous figure. "Shall I start dunking?"

"Go for it!" I told him.

I'm sorry to say that we got WAY too carried away with the potion. And I would love to apologize to Madam Pince for that fact, if she would ever let us in the library again. But hey, I was relatively new to this whole living-action-figure deal, so how could I have predicted what would happen next?

Never mind. Anyone with a brain could deduce the outcome of so many diverse beings suddenly coming to life.

Our first hint that anything was wrong came from Melody. "Bloody hell!"

"What? What'd I do?" protested Ethan, looking up from immersing a Doctor Who figure in the gunk (it must have been his own, since no student would claim the figure afterward).

"Not you, them! The figures! They're fighting!"

Fighting was too tame a word, I decided. _Brawling _might be more accurate. The floor of our area of the library seethed with pitched battle as the figures fired on each other, clashed bladed weapons, or resorted to fists. A cluster of Enterprise crew members hid behind a bookshelf and fired phaser-blasts at a team of elves, who sent volley after volley of arrows at them. Jack Sparrow dueled fiercely with Darth Vader on the tabletop, somewhat hampered by the fact that the blade of his sword grew shorter every time it hit Vader's weapon but apparently not caring. A suit of armor shot blasts of fire from its palms after Spiderman, who was doing his best to tie the thing up but failing. And the fight was spreading...

"Everyone break it up!" I shouted.

"Grab them!" yelled Clay. "Stun them, freeze them, whatever it takes!"

Ethan raised his wand and aimed it at a patch of ground. "_Immobilus!_"

A cluster of action figures froze in place, weapons still raised. Club members hurriedly scooped up the figures before moving on to the next batch, stunning and freezing and collecting them before they could inflict heavy damage.

"OUT!" howled Madam Pince, storming toward us with a heavy book raised like a club. "OUT OF THE LIBRARY! I will NOT tolerate this blatant..." Her rant ended in a shriek as a tiny black jet swooped low to buzz her.

"We've almost got things under control," Ethan assured her. "Did I miss anyone?"

"Just those two." I pointed.

Two fighters had somehow managed to scale the bookshelves and were now duking it out atop a stack of Advanced Transfiguration tomes -- a huge (for an action figure) green gorilla-esque man in torn cut-offs and a sleek silver-and-black robot with a weapon Jefferson would have described as a "freakin' huge gun" on his arm. Even as we watched the green guy tackled the robot, and the two of them fell to the floor... taking the books with them.

"OUT!" Madam Pince bellowed again. "OUT THIS INSTANT! Oh, my poor books..."

"Everyone grab your figures and let's go!" Clay ordered. "Meeting adjourned!"

Jacob and Chisulo dove for the two still-grappling figures, wrenching them apart only with great effort.

"HULK SMASH!" the green guy roared, kicking and writhing in Jacob's grip.

"No organic being is a match for Megatron!" the robot retorted, aiming his arm-cannon at the Hulk. Chisulo swatted his arm down before he could fire.

"Well, that was a disaster," I muttered, scooping my share of the figures into my bag and following Professor Draconis out of the library.

"You kidding?" he retorted. "That was the most fun I've had in years!"

"You have a twisted sense of fun."

"That's why you like me."

"Har har. Now where are we going to have our meetings? I don't think she's gonna let us back in the library now."

"Hmm. Good point. I'll think on that this week. Meanwhile, you and your friends figure out how we're going to control all these trigger-happy action figures."


	12. The Power of Positive Thinking

**Chapter 12 -- The Power of Positive Thinking**

Could this next week get any crazier? Not only did I have to put up with the hatred of the Slytherins (whose dislike toward me seemed to triple once word got out it was my fault Hogwarts was now playing host to living action figures) and the ever-growing workload of my classes, but now I had two huge problems that would need sorted out before our club's next meeting. Namely, where meetings were going to be held from now on and how to keep the action figures from ripping each other into unidentifiable wads of plastic, never mind the damage that would be done to the school and students in the process.

Filch had attempted to nip the problem in the bud by making Vitalidip (what Ethan ended up naming the potion) a banned item whose possession by a student could result in expulsion and by going about on an action-figure confiscation spree. Both plans ended up a bust. He never found Ethan's stash of the stuff, and the action figures would have none of it when he attempted to seperate them from their owners. After visiting Madame Pomfrey eight times in one day for various tiny bites, burns, stab wounds, gunshot wounds, and the removal of a Jaffa staff from his left nostril, he finally gave up. The figures repaid him by tormenting his cat at every opportunity, chasing and divebombing her or even leaping onto her back for "wild bronco" rides from time to time.

Us geeks weren't having a much easier time of it, though. The figures did feel a smidgen of loyalty toward their owners in that they refused to be parted from them and took violent offense when a student threatened them in any way. But they refused to take orders from anyone, even their owners. They sassed teachers (poor Jacob had been mortified when his Dr. Octopus figure had called Dumbledore a "dumb old fogey" in the halls), shot at paintings, darted in and out of suits of armor, wandered the halls and made rackets at all hours of the day and night, and of course were always and forever at each others' throats. Not just typical hero/villian battles, either -- the Rebel Alliance figures hated the Star Trek Federation figures for some reason, the Lord of the Rings figures were always at war with the Kingdom Hearts figures, the Pirates of the Caribbean figures seemed to want to pick a fight with EVERYBODY... you get the drift.

In the end, Clay declared that everyone was responsible for keeping their own figures under control, and no more were to be brought to life until we could prove we were capable of controlling our current batch. That at least kept the population from exploding in the figurative sense, though not necessarily in the literal sense.

It was the third day after their "birth" that I lost patience with my own figures. I had tried keeping the fighting down at night by locking the Imperial figures in my trunk, which worked for about ten minutes -- which was how long it took a team-up of Darth Vader and General Grievous to hack through the oak wall of the trunk and make an escape. The sound of blaster fire jolted me out of a doze and made my bunk mates shriek in terror, and I sat up to find the entire floor, not to mention my bed, seething with pitched battle like a minituarized Geonosis.

"Knock it off!" I shouted.

A TIE zoomed over my head in reply.

"Everyone cool it!" I screamed. "Or I'll start Stunning people!"

No one paid me any mind.

"Jango, where the frig are you?" I grumbled, looking around. At least one figure harbored some intelligence here -- maybe being the first brought to life made him slightly more mature than the others.

"Up here enjoying the show," Jango piped up, waving from his perch on the window sill. "What do you need?"

"Is there any way you can break this up?" I asked.

"Short of getting my ship -- which I'm rather upset that you didn't bring it to Hogwarts with you -- and blasting everyone into silence, no," he replied.

"Some help you are," I grumbled.

A stray blast shrieked past my head and hit my Vader poster, searing a pinprick hole in the image's shoulder. That was it.

"IF I DON'T HAVE ABSOLUTE SILENCE IN FIVE SECONDS, I'M TRACKING ETHAN DOWN AND DUNKING MY DEATH STAR MODEL IN THAT POTION OF HIS, DO YOU HEAR ME!"

The noise eventually tapered off, and everyone -- students and figures alike -- gave me their undivided attention. It took a lot longer than five seconds for the last of the combatants to put down their weapons, but I was willing to cut them a little slack for listening to me in the first place.

"You're an idiot, Mudblood," Felicity growled. "Didn't you think twice before bringing these things to life?"

"Can it or I'll sic 'em on you, Felix," I snapped. "Goes for you too, Charly," I fired at Charity when she opened her mouth to say something snobby. "Mel, go back to sleep, I have this under control."

"You sure?" she asked, eyeing the figures doubtfully.

"Trust me," I replied. Then I let my gaze sweep the collection of troopers, Rebels, Jedi, Sith, aliens, and droids I had lugged to Hogwarts with me.

"What's your problem, people? Look, I know you guys all weren't exactly friends in the movies, but this isn't the frickin' Star Wars galaxy, if you haven't noticed. This is Hogwarts, and you don't have anything to gain from trying to kill each other, all right?"

A few of them exchanged looks of dawning comprehension, as if this had just occured to them.

"You can't expect us to just stop fighting overnight," a Mace Windu figure pointed out. "We've been enemies for too long to simply cease hostilities on your whim."

"He's got a point," Melody pointed out. "They may be action figures, but they've got the same personalities as the originals. If fighting is wired into them, they're going to fight no matter what."

I sighed. "Then why not take out your aggression on someone else, then? Find a common foe or something. Just stop whaling on each other. I like my sleep."

I expected an argument, but surprisingly the figures all agreed, and they put away their weapons and proceeded to take up posts around my bed as if to guard me during the night. I wondered what kind of conclusion they'd come up with and feared what it might mean in the morning, but I decided to worry about it later and dropped off to sleep.

My answer came at breakfast the next morning, when Jacob and I were sitting down with the twins. I had just opened my mouth to request that someone pass the scrambled eggs when a black-robed form swooped by as if his pants were on fire, a cluster of Rebels and scouttroopersmounted on speeder bikes hot on his heels. My mouth remained open for some time, and I completely forgot about the eggs. Fred, George, and Jacob, meanwhile, nearly wet themselves laughing over Professor Snape's predicament.

The other students had their own means of dealing with their figures. Poor Hans, the anime fanatic, couldn't even communicate with his figures for the longest time -- the danged things didn't speak a lick of English. Luckily, Madame Pince had had the sense to stock language books in the library, so for most of the rest of the year Hans had his nose buried in a "Japanese For Dummies" and gained a reputation for muttering nonsense under his breath. He must have had some degree of success, because the anime figures eventually calmed down and quit randomly attacking other figures.

Demeter had a much easier time with her _Pirates _figures -- all she had to do to keep them on good behavior was keep them well-supplied with rum (provided by Ethan). Likewise, Clay kept the Stargate crew happy with coffee, blue Jello, and a handful of magical items that they took for "alien artifacts." I'm still not sure if they ever figured out just what the purpose of the Remembrall was. Robert simply had to remind the Star Trek figures of the Prime Directive on a regular basis to achieve results. John struggled with his own figures for a few days, but when he realized that for all their bluster and insanity the Homestar Runner crew were pretty much harmless, he simply took to locking them in his trunk at night so he could get some sleep.

Others had a much harder time of it, sadly. If the Gryffindors had at any time counted themselves lucky that only one among them had joined the sci-fi club, they were sorely mistaken. Chisulo had a massive action-figure collection that put mine to shame, and he had somehow managed to lug the entire thing to Hogwarts. The consequence, of course, was a swarm of mini-robots that, when they weren't trying to slaughter each other, were tearing up the corridors with impromptu drag races or buzzing students and teachers alike in plane mode.

Finally it had taken a dirty trick on Chisulo's part to get them to behave. Desperate and frazzled, he had finally faced the entire pack of them and delivered his threat: "If you don't behave, I'll make you watch the original Transformers movie!"

Never mind that we had no idea how to make a DVD player work on Hogwarts grounds at that time -- the Transformers were instantly cowed. Even Prime and Megatron had whimpered in terror. And they behaved like perfect gentle-bots after that.

Daniel's _Lord of the Rings _figures also proved to be a tough nut to crack. There was little he could bribe them with, threatening them with the movies was pointless, and let's face it, elven archers and orcs with nasty blades are far from harmless. Within the course of a few days the little monsters had shredded several students' shoes, scared the owls so badly they took to dropping letters and packages from a height to stay out of firing range, and nearly driven Madam Pomfrey nuts from the amount of students and teachers coming into the hospital wing to have tiny arrows extracted from their skin.

Finally we had an emergency meeting mid-week and put our heads together to come up with a solution. Immediately after said meeting, Daniel gathered his figures, held up his replica of the One Ring, and informed them that the next figure who acted up would be forced to haul the ring to the nearest volcano. It worked -- attacks from elves and orcs and hobbits dropped sharply after that.

My second dilemma seemed almost impossible to resolve -- there weren't many places in the school outside of common rooms and the Great Hall where students could meet freely after classes. Since we had students from all four houses, house rivalries prevented us from meeting in any of the house common rooms. And holding the meetings in the Great Hall seemed to be an invitation for others to harass us. Fred and George, who knew just about every secret passageway in the school, tried to help, but most of their suggestions were pretty impractical -- I for one wasn't going to hold a geek club meeting in one of the bathrooms, even if no one ever went inside it on account of a ghost residing in one of the toilets.

By Saturday evening I was getting pretty desperate. I even wondered if it was worth approaching Dumbledore and asking him if there was any place available for student-formed clubs in the school. The only reason I didn't seek him out was because I was just slightly intimidated by him. Not that he was scary per se; if anything, he humored us students and even went out of his way to smile and say hello if we happened to pass him in the halls. I guess my impression of him at the beginning of the year -- that he was the perfect wizard -- made him that much more unapproachable in my mind.

I was on my way to dinner on Saturday, grumbling to Jango about my predicament, when I almost ran smack into Jacob, who looked as excited as I'd ever seen him.

"Emily, I found it!"

"You found Captain America?" I asked. The star-spangled superhero had gone missing a few days ago, along with my Darth Vader and Han Solo figures, while plotting a surprise attack on Snape in his office. We'd recovered both the Star Wars figures from what was left of Snape's desk, singed but otherwise fine, but there had been no sign of Jacob's figure.

"Oh, Sidney found him last night," Jacob assured me. "He'd been blown into the rafters by the explosion. But that's not what I was going to tell you. I found it! I found where we can have our club meetings!"

Now THAT did wonders for my mood. "Show me."

He grabbed my arm and dragged me deep into the castle, into a corridor that didn't look like it saw much traffic. There was a huge tapestry of a goofy-looking wizard attempting to train trolls to do ballet, but no doors. I lifted a corner of the tapestry to see if there was a concealed room behind it. Just wall.

"I was pacing this hallway," Jacob explained eagerly. "All I could think was that we needed a new place for our club to meet. I kept thinking and pacing, and after awhile I looked up and saw a door."

"There is no door," I pointed out, wondering if some evil-minded Slytherin hadn't slipped something in his pumpkin juice.

"Trust me," he assured me. "Walk back and forth a few times and think only one thought -- that we need a place for the geek club to meet."

I decided to humor him -- he was a friend, and one did things like that for friends. Besides, I wasn't about to chase him off by calling him crazy. So I swallowed my pride and began to pace, chanting the phrase in my mind like a mantra_: We need a place for the sci-fi club to meet, we need a place for the sci-fi club to meet..._

After I'd made four or five cycles of the hallway, I looked up, fully expecting to call Jacob on his bluff. Instead, I saw a door that most definitley hadn't been there before.

"Huh," I marveled. "You were right. Cool."

"That's not the coolest thing about it," he grinned. "Go on, open it."

I eased the door open... and just about fell over.

_Break..._

"You want us to what?" repeated Demeter.

"C'mon, work with me here, people," I told the assembled geek club. "Go back and forth a few times thinking that we need a meeting place for our club. That's all it takes."

"She's mental," complained Hans.

"If you don't take her suggestion, you're the mental one," Ethan retorted. "You're all wizards, kiddies, you know magic gets whacked-out at times. Why can't it be whacked-out enough to create a room that operates on its own terms?"

The entire geek club, including action figures, had assembled in the corridor, expecting to be told that the meeting had been canceled due to lack of a venue. They had perked up when I announced that we'd found a location for the meeting at the last minute, but when I'd explained the rules for entering said room their enthusiasm waned.

"I was in there yesterday," Jacob assured everyone. "It's wicked! You've got to give it a try!"

"This isn't some kind of joke, is it?" asked Chisulo skeptically.

I sighed. "Okay, I'll do it. Just to prove it to you. Deal?"

Before anyone could answer positively or negatively, I set off, striding down the corridor, then spinning on one heel and marching back up the corridor. All the while I held the thought in my head that we needed someplace for the geeks to meet. Everyone eyed me suspiciously -- except Jacob, who's grin from last night hadn't faded yet, and Ethan, who looked incredibly fascinated.

On the third pass I noticed the door, and I grabbed the handle and flung it open. "I normally hate saying this, people, but... I told you so."

Suspicion gave way to amazement... and then to open-mouthed, drooling awe as we entered the chamber. It was easily the size of the Great Hall, if not slightly bigger. Every wall was plastered with posters depicting every fantasy and sci-fi film you could imagine, except for the far wall which bore shelf after shelf of comic books and DVDs and a blazing fireplace. Instead of the long tables typical of the Great Hall, smaller round tables dotted the room, each already set out with a different game -- Dungeons and Dragons, WarHammer, Magic The Gathering, Yu-Gi-Oh, and others. Large cabinets took up the corners, cabinets stuffed with snacks, pencils and paper, dice of all sorts, blankets and pillows, and anything else I imagined we might need for whatever activities we planned here. And the ceiling, instead of terminating in rafters like most rooms in the castle, faded off into a deep obsidion blackness that swirled with stars and galaxies and comets in a dazzling pattern.

"Merlin's beard!" gushed Clay, spreading her arms and throwing her head back in bliss as if she were a farmer standing out in a field during a long-awaited rain.

"Sweet Primus!" exclaimed Chisulo, bolting for the wall and darting eagerly from poster to poster.

"Great balls of fire!" bellowed Ethan, wearing an ecstatic grin that bordered on deranged.

"Thank Jacob, people," I told the geeks. "He's the one who found this..."

My words fell on deaf ears as the geeks scattered, exploring their new playground, testing out the games, examining the contents of the cabinets. Ethan was tickled to find ingredients for the Vitalidip potion in one cupboard, while the action figures whooped with pleasure when they found another cabinet only contained doll-sized beds, blankets, and other accessories for them to make themselves perfectly at home here. Everyone's eyes shone with pleasure, and I knew we'd found the perfect place.

"Why are there DVDs here?" asked John. "I thought Muggle technology didn't work here."

"Maybe this has something to do with it," Demeter pointed out, pulling something out of the cabinet. It closely resembled an old-fashioned phonograph, only made of coppery metal and without a needle.

"What is it?" asked Spiderman, leaping from Jacob's shoulder and landing on a tabletop for a closer look.

"I saw it in Dumbledore's office when he called me there for disciplinary action once," she replied. "He told me he enjoyed Muggle music and entertainment but thought it a shame that the machines needed to enjoy them didn't work in Hogwarts, so he put together something to remedy that."

"How does it work?" asked Hans.

Sidney, who had been pawing at the shelves, snorted and yanked a DVD case to the floor. "Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

I popped the Futurama DVD out of its case and set it on the turntable. Immediately it began to spin, and a weird light issued from the "horn" part of the phonograph. Curious, I turned the horn about, wondering if it might project a picture if facing a flat surface...

It didn't project. Instead, when the horn faced the fireplace, the flames vanished, to be replaced with an image clearer than any TV screen I'd ever seen.

"Wicked!" gushed Melody. "It runs on the Floo network!"

At that point, we lost the entire club. Watching an old Futurama episode took precedence over any sort of club business we might have had. Not that I blame them in the least, of course.

And that was how the Room of Requirement came to be the weekly stomping grounds for the Hogwarts Science Fiction Club.


	13. Daleks and Dragonkin and Bludgers, Oh My

_NOTE: Ethan's action figure collection was Zachariasofborg's idea, as were some of the insane happenings in the Quiddich match. Quodpot comes from the Harry Potter spinoff book "Quiddich Through the Ages."_

**Chapter 13 -- Daleks and Dragonkin and Bludgers, Oh My!**

Just when I thought we'd solved most of the geek club's problems, a certain member's crazy ways had to throw an interesting wrench into things.

Appropriately enough, the new wave of madness started in the Room of Requirement two weeks before Halloween. It was between club meetings, and a handful of us were there to kill a little time before curfew. I was occupied with _Heir to the Empire _on a beanbag chair in the corner, Jacob and Hans were playing some weird board game called Thud, and Chisulo and Clay were just watching with interest as a handful of action figures dragged various odds and ends together and attempted to construct something from the dissimilar bits. Clay had made some remark about being thankful they had not titaniam or toasters handy, but no one got the joke except the O'Niel figure.

"What's the superweapon of the week going to be this time?" Chisulo asked.

"We haven't figured it out yet," a Luke Skywalker figure replied. "Sora wants a new Keyblade and Strong Bad votes for a flamethrower, but I think most of us are leaning toward some kind of turbolaser."

"Out of a drinking straw, a broken pencil, Spellotape, a Sneakoscope, and week-old Every-Flavor Beans?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Don't dissuade them," suggested Jango, looking up from where he and some of the other figures were watching _Titan A.E. _in the fireplace. "They'll just find something more destructive to occupy their time."

"Point taken," I replied, and returned to my book.

"You know," Chisulo noted, "this makes me wonder just how alive these action figures are."

"What are you talking about?" asked Clay.

"Well, they can move around and talk," he explained. "At least I think some of them are talking." He gave a cluster of Dragonball Z characters a questioning look, and a Goku figure grumbled something in Japanese back. "But has anyone seen them eat or drink? Or need to bathe or use the toilet?"

"They're still plastic," Jacob told him, looking up from the gameboard. "They don't need to eat. I've seen some of them wash themselves, but even plastic still gets dirty."

Hans gave a strange smile. "You think now that they're alive, they might try reproducing?"

I groaned and buried my face in the book. "Sick and wrong, Hans, just sick and wrong."

"Come on!" he retorted. "I've seen your Anakin and Padme figures get cuddly!"

"Just what we need, a bunch of tiny action figures running around," Clay complained.

Chisulo exploded with laughter and fell backward, clutching his stomach.

"Yeah, laugh it up," Jacob muttered. "You don't have to worry about it, yours are all robots anyway..."

Ironic that he would say that right then. Because a strange whirring sound ground out from just in front of my feet, and I looked over the top of my Zahn book to see what was going on. From the look of it, someone had dunked the world's ugliest salt shaker in Vitalidip and let it go on its merry way. The thing turned to face me (I think -- I couldn't make out a face) and uttered a single word in a threatening monotone:

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

I looked at the thing awhile, then leaned over and flicked it across the Room of Requirement like someone would flick away an annoying bug. The talking salt shaker sailed across the room, flew over a startled Davy Jones' head, and landed with a thunk at the base of a _Star Trek _movie poster.

"That's odd," Clay noted. "No one in the club has a Dalek figure."

"That thing's an action figure?" I asked, skeptical. Then again, I suppose it could have vaguely passed as Artoo Detoo's cousin -- the kind you ignored at family reunions and denied you were related to...

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

I looked down and to my right to spot the Dalek again, this time aiming something resembling a tiny plunger at my head.

"Didn't I just whack you?" I demanded, kicking it into a cluster of stormtroopers and Homestar Runner figures who were playing kickball in a corner. They toys yelped and scattered upon the sudden arrival of the Dalek.

"How many of these things are there -- YOW!" Jacob leaped out of his seat and rubbed his backside. Another of the contraptions slid out from under his chair, chanting "EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"We're under attack!" barked Jango, leaping to his feet and drawing his blasters.

"We are not..." I started to say, but had to retract that almost instantly. Pouring out of the cupboard to the right of the fireplace were dozens of the hideous little robot-creatures, blaring out the same monotone chant and shooting some kind of energy from their "heads." The action figures -- forgive me for the pun -- sprang into action, arming weapons and forming protective rings around us students, ready to head off the Daleks by any means necessary. The Daleks, unperturbed by this show of force, surrounded us and continued their chant.

"I don't think _Lumos _or _Wingardium Leviosa _is going to cut it with these things," I muttered in Jacob's direction.

"Daleks," Clay informed me. "From Dr. Who."

Figured they'd be from some strange British TV show. Not that it helped our predicament much...

The door to the Room of Requirement sprang open at that moment, and Professor Draconis strode in with a jaunty bounce in his step, humming to himself. He stopped short when he saw the army of Daleks and their captives, his merry little tune halting in mid-stanza.

"What's all this?" he demanded. "Daleks, fall back! They're pals!"

The Daleks scurried away like cockroaches from a floodlight, retreating under tables and chairs, into cupboards, and anywhere else they could squeeze themselves. Ethan aimed a teasing kick at a pack of stragglers before turning back to us with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that. Damn little things have minds of their own at times..."

"Professor," Clay said with remarkable calmness for a girl who'd just been held up and threatened at plunger-point, "I thought we'd agreed no more figures brought to life."

"Ah.. well... I..." He reached up and began to rub the back of his head absently, his ear-fins wilting a little. "I guess I got a tad bit carried away..."

"Just how many figures did you animate?" I demanded.

"Well... there's the Doctor and that Einstein figure and a few other figures of famous blokes... not sure on the Daleks, I lost count at seventy-five and they don't hold still long enough for a roll call..."

"ETHAN!" I shouted.

"What?" he protested, spreading his hands and wearing an innocent expression. "After awhile it just got habit-forming!"

"How come he gets so many figures?" demanded Chisulo.

"You're a fine one to talk, you've got enough figures to invade London," Hans retorted. "Besides, he's a teacher. He can do what he wants."

I supposed that was true... but all the same, I made a mental note to talk to the Weasley twins tonight at dinner. They were good at sneaking into teacher's offices, from what I heard; maybe they could filch the rest of his Vitalidip.

Things just went downhill from there. Our action figures refused to have anything to do with the Daleks or any of Ethan's figures, so they pretty much declared themselves their own faction and proceeded to wreak merry havoc wherever they went. They patrolled the halls regularly, threatening to "EX-TER-MIN-ATE" students who were out after lights-out (which delighted Filch to no end) and scorching walls and floors with their flamethrower attachments (which, paradoxically, annoyed Filch to no end). On the positive side, however, they seemed to be severely handicapped by the school's staircases. I soon had a bet going with Melody that every Dalek would have trickled down to the ground floor, if not the dungeons, and been trapped there by Thanksgiving.

Ethan thought the figures great fun, and he went out of his way to ensure they found themselves on the tables in the Great Hall during meals. Many a scream could be heard as a kid blithely reached for the salt and instead got a shrieking plunger-armed alien. And somehow one of the things ALWAYS ended up in front of Snape during meals. It got to the point where the Potions Master would develop a sudden tic in his cheek whenever another teacher asked him to pass the seasoning.

As for his other figures... who'd have thought they made action figures out of such historical figures as Einstein, Da Vinci, and Freud? I certainly didn't -- at least, I didn't until the three of them passed me quite nonchalantly in the hall, talking amongst themselves and either unaware or uncaring that they were twenty times smaller than the students surrounding them.

Then there was the little incident in the girls' room. I was washing my hands when I heard an almighty scream and saw Charity come charging out of one of the stalls, white as a stormtrooper and screeching like a bad set of brakes. Never mind what curiosity did to the danged cat -- I hustled on over to the stall to see what was going on. Imagine my surprise when I spotted a soaking-wet, four-inch-tall guy in khaki seated on the toilet tank, grinning like a loon.

"Crikey, was THAT a big snake or what?" he gushed.

"Okay, I'll put up with a lot of lunacy from my Dark Arts professor," I told him. "But tiny Steve Irwins popping out of the plumbing's going overboard."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself, mate. Can you point the way to the lake? I'd like a gander at that giant squid!"

"Find Sidney, he'll take you," I replied, and hastily vacated the bathroom.

Needless to say, after the above incidents, I was more than a little apprehensive when they announced Ethan would be refereeing the first big Quiddich match of the season.

"Between our houses, too," Chisulo noted as I settled down across from him at the Gryffindor table. "Dunno if I'll make it to the game, I'm not a sports fan."

"Eh, all sports are overrated," I replied, piling my plate with macaroni and cheese. "Even if they do involve flying on broomsticks and chasing a golden ball around."

"Don't forget Bludgers," grinned Fred, taking the seat to Chisulo's left. "Best part of the game. Pass me the salt, mate?"

Chisulo picked up a fork and poked at the salt shaker cautiously. Once he was sure it was harmless, he handed it over. "Good luck tomorrow," he told Fred.

"Eh, we don't need luck. Gryffindor's got the best team. Just the bloody Sith-erins who like to cheat at every given opportunity..."

"Fred, George, hurry and eat!" barked a tall, burly fourth year, striding forward to talk to the twins. "We need to get one last practice in before tomorrow's game..." His gaze rested on me, and his eyes narrowed. "What's a Slytherin doing here?"

"Leaving," I replied shortly, picking up my plate and standing to go. If he was going to be a snoot, I'd just go sit with Clay, Daniel, Hans, and Robert at the Hufflepuff table. I didn't need to put up with this guy's crap.

"Weasleys, what's a Slytherin doing here?" demanded the burly kid, glowering at the twins as if they'd dragged me in off the street like a stray dog.

"Em's cool, Wood," Fred assured him. "She's not a snob like all the others..."

"She's a Slytherin," Wood replied coldly. "I don't care if she's a snob or not; they probably sent her over here to pry game secrets out of you."

"The Slytherins don't even talk to me," I retorted. "Why would they use me as a spy?"

"C'mon and sit down, Em," George told me assuringly. "Don't mind Wood, he's just slightly obsessed with the Quiddich matches..."

"_Slightly?_" Chisulo muttered.

"Be careful what you say around her," Wood advised the twins. "And for the love of Merlin watch your drinks! Rumor has it Snape's missing some Veritaserum, and we don't know who has it and what they might use it for." He gave me a pointed look and strode off.

"Geez, how paranoid can you get?" I muttered.

"He's Wood," Fred replied, as if that explained everything.

I sighed and sat back down, digging into my mac and cheese. Stupid Gryffindor anyway, stupid Slytherin, stupid houses, stupid purebloods, stupid, stupid, stupid...

"I should be siding with my own house, I guess," Chisulo noted, poking at his steak-and-kidney pie. "But it's hard to do that when they haven't exactly gone out of their way to be friendly to me. And it's kind of hard to see Emily as a spy, especially after she helped organize that club. With them, it doesn't matter that my dad's a Muggle-born or that I'm the only Gryffindor among them. With them, they accept me warts and all."

"And the Gryffindors don't?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

He shook his head. "I've been known as the resident nutter ever since my Sorting, when toy minicons fell out of my pocket as I was heading for the Gryffindor table."

So much for their reputation as the most noble of houses.

Fred patted his arm fondly. "Chin up, Chisulo. Not all Gryffindors think you're loony. We like you."

Chisulo smiled a little. "Thanks."

I finished up my lunch and stood to go. "Should we plan a movie or something else for tomorrow?" I asked. "I doubt many of the geeks are going to want to watch the Quiddich game anyhow."

Chisulo opened his mouth to answer... then paused, an evil grin sliding across his mouth as an idea struck him.

"Okay, spill it," I ordered, sitting back down. "What's on your mind?"

"I just thought of something," he grinned. "Maybe a little way for us to get back at our houses. I have something up in my dormitory my parents sent me for my birthday that can help us. It's just the right size, too. We just need Ethan to animate it."

"We don't need Ethan anymore," I told him. "Fred, George, did you get the Vitalidip out of Ethan's office?"

"Every drop of it," Fred replied. "Bloody near lost an arm to his security spells, though... I didn't know nifflers grew that big..."

"Excellent." I motioned for Chisulo to continue. "Let's hear the plan, pal."

_Break..._

At first I was worried the plan would fall through -- we would need the referee's cooperation, after all, and I doubted Ethan would be too keen on helping us after we filched the potion from his office. But he was not only forgiving of our theft and enthusiastic about helping, he had his own ideas for how to knock the lion and snake houses down a few pegs.

"No worries about the potion, I can always brew more," he assured us, earning a groan from myself and twin evil smiles from the Weasleys. "As for the Bludgers... sure, I'd be happy to swap them out for your substitutes!" He reached out and took the box from me, grinning from ear-fin to ear-fin.

"You're sure you can catch them again?" I asked. "They were expensive, and I don't think it would be a good idea for these things to be turned loose on Hogwarts grounds."

"I can handle it," he assured me. "What about the other balls?"

"What about them?"

"Well, since you rigged the new Bludgers, I thought you'd have an idea for the Quaffle and Snitch as well."

I shrugged. "We just covered the Bludgers. Didn't think beyond that."

His grin turned sly. "Oh, I think I can manage something. See you at the game this afternoon." And he sauntered off, whistling "Trot Trot to Boston" as he went.

"Is anyone else slightly disturbed by how happy he is to help?" asked George.

"Who cares, I want front-row seats to this," I replied.

And so it came to pass that I found my butt in the stands of the Quiddich pitch that drizzly Saturday afternoon, squashed between the only two members of the geek club who'd wanted to attend the game (Chisulo, of course, and Jacob, who thought the plan was brilliant and wanted to see Montague taken down a few pegs). We were down in the front of the stands, just behind the dividing wall, and seated in the Hufflepuff section, as they seemed to be the least hostile toward students not from their own house at events like this. Also accompanying us were Jango, Spiderman, and one of Chisulo's figures, a black and white Transformer he called Jazz, all perched on the dividing wall and looking fairly bored with the proceedings.

"And it's a lovely day for a Quiddich match!" came the magically amplified voice of the commentator. "Or not so lovely, but a little rain never killed a Quiddich game, did it?"

"Lee Jordan, are you commentating or giving a weather report?" demanded McGonagall, her own voice slightly amplified as if trying to make a point.

"So sorry, Professor -- anyhow, we have Gryffindor vs. Slytherin today, and here come the teams! First here comes Gryffindor -- Wood, Davis, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Weasley!"

I started a little at that -- I remembered that the twins had two brothers at the school, but they hadn't mentioned that one of them was a Quiddich player. I had a look as the Gryffindor team marched onto the field, their scarlet robes as bright as flames in the rain-dulled air. Sure enough, their Seeker had the same red hair. Percy or Charlie, I wondered...

"And the Slytherin team -- Flint, Bletchley, Montague, Capulet, Bole, St. James, and Higgs!"

A few Hufflepuffs booed as the emerald-green robes of the Slytherin team made their way onto the field. Jacob gave a half-hearted whoop in favor of our house, but I couldn't even dredge that up. Hey, it's hard to root for people who would sooner kick you in the shins than say hello to you.

"And here comes the referee, Professor Draconis... and that's a wicked broom he's got there!"

Ethan strode onto the field, pushing the handlebars (yes, handlebars) of a heavily customized broom onto the field. Unlike most of the brooms I'd seen thus far, which seemed to be the traditional bunch of twigs or straw strapped to a long stick, this was a push broom, like those used by janitors. But then again, most janitors didn't use push brooms that had handlebars, footrests, a slung-back seat, and twin tailpipes jutting out from the sides and sweeping back like gleaming silver horns. A collective "ooh!" of appreciation rose from the audience, and someone behind me made a comment about "tricked-out American rides." I just wondered if the thing was even game-legal, though it probably didn't matter if he was just reffing.

"All right, let's get ready to RUMBLE!" he shouted, and he turned to a wooden trunk that had been strapped behind the seat of the broom. He unlocked it and flung it open, releasing three spheres that shot away almost immediately -- the two Bludgers, which instantly became dark streaks that arced and swerved above the pitch, and the Snitch, which winked gold for a moment before seeming to vanish. Instantly the two Seekers pushed off from the ground, ready to play their part in the game, while Ethan grabbed the scarlet Quaffle and flung it in the air to signal the start of the game.

"And Davis has the Quaffle... now Flint... now Johnson has it, very nice catch there, she's really something isn't she, pity she won't go out with me..."

"JORDAN!"

"Just checking to see if everyone's listening, McGonagall... and first score to Gryffindor! Capulet takes possession of the Quaffle now..."

"I thought this was going to be exciting," complained Spiderman.

"Give it a few minutes, webhead," I told him. "We want them to be surprised, don't we?"

"I wonder what Professor Draconis did to the Snitch and Quaffle," Jacob mused. "The way he was talking, it sounded as if he was going to replace them with bombs or Puffskeins..."

"I saw him jabbing his wand into the Quaffle a bit ago," Chisulo volunteered.

Jacob gaped at him, then flung back his head and laughed.

"What's so funny?" demanded Jango.

"Emily..." he gasped, still grinning. "Have you heard of Quodpot?"

"Um... no," I replied. "Sounds like a slang term for a toilet."

"Oh. Sorry, I forget you're Muggle-born sometimes. It's an American version of Quiddich -- they alter a Quaffle with a wand, then pass it from player to player and try to get it to the goal before..."

There was a loud CRACK! as the Quaffle exploded in Capulet's face, bits of red leather drifting down to the grass. The audience gave very mixed reactions -- some gasped, some shrieked, and a surprising number of people applauded.

"New Quaffle!" Ethan declared, producing another ball from nowhere and flinging it at Capulet. "And careful this time, all right?"

"I didn't do anything!" complained Capulet, but caught the new Quaffle and continued on anyhow.

The three action figures gave a hearty cheer.

"Everything's better with random explosions, isn't it?" Jacob asked, grinning.

"...and there goes Capulet with the Quaffle again, he passes to Flint, who'd better watch for that Bludger..." continued Lee.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," I grinned, and I settled back to watch the action.

Fred and George were the only players who knew anything about our little prank, and they gently herded the Bludger toward Flint. Bole, one of the Slytherin Beaters, surged forward with his bat raised to knock the sphere away. But the Bludger had other plans -- it rotated on the spot just a bit so a peculiar dent, too perfectly round to be from a club impact, faced Bole. Green light bloomed and jetted forward, striking the Beater's club and making it violently explode. Bole dropped the remains of the bat and scooted away on his rear end as far as his broom would allow.

"What was that?" demanded Lee, a gape in his voice. "Whatever it is, it hasn't made the Slytherin captain happy, he's calling a time-out..."

"What kind of Bludger was THAT?" a girl several rows up screeched.

I smirked. "That's no Bludger -- that's a space station!"

"It's too small to be a space station!" Jango shot back, chuckling as he tweaked the classic line to fit the current situation.

"And here I thought bringing my Death Star model to Hogwarts was a bad idea," I smiled, patting Jango's shoulder with a finger.

"What about the other Bludger?" demanded the Jazz figure, obviously impatient to see some more action.

"Patience, my young apprentice," I assured him. "The game isn't over yet."

All the time we were exchanging comments, Flint and Wood were hollering at Ethan and at each other, each trying to drown out the other. Ethan was adamant that the game continue despite the whacked-out game equipment; Flint and Wood were adamant that there be a replacement of the Bludgers before someone got hurt. Finally Madame Hooch, the school's flying instructor, ordered the game to continue. "Proceeding with the game no matter the circumstances exemplifies the true spirit of Quiddich," she informed an irritated Wood and an enraged Flint.

"Looks like the game is on again, and the Beaters are keeping a healthy distance from the Bludgers, wonder if they're a new style or something... Flint passes to Montague but Spinnet intercepts, goes for the goals..."

The second Bludger streaked toward Spinnet, but Fred lightly tapped it in St. James' direction. The Slytherin Beater raised his club and brought it down as hard as he could on the ball. Chisulo cringed visibly; Jazz just gave a demented grin.

St. James looked around frantically for the Bludger, as if expecting it to come back and fry his eyebrows off for whacking it. Then a strange expression of dawning comprehension slowly crossed his face, and he raised his club. The Bludger was fastened to the end of it, metallic teeth gripping for all it was worth. The Beater's eyes widened as the sphere unfurled spindly wing-like extensions and extended horn-like tusks from about its maw, all the while gnawing away at the club as if it were a candy bar.

"What is it again?" asked Jacob, pointing at the fake Bludger.

"Oh, we dunked the Unicron figure my parents gave me and painted it gunmetal," replied Chisulo. When Jacob offered him a blank look, he clarified: "You know the Transformers are giant robots that turn into Muggle cars and planes and stuff? Well, Unicron's a giant Transformer that turns into a planet. A very hungry planet."

St. James dropped the bat with a squeal, and Unicron polished it off with a happy grumble. Then it unfolded the rest of the way to become a goblin-sized robot, green eyes gleaming and a hungry expression on its face. That did the poor Beater in -- he dove for the pitch with a hysterical bawl, striking the grass running and charging for the locker rooms still astride his broom. Flint shouted for him to stob blubbering and get back in the game, but to no avail.

"Looks like Slytherin's down a Beater, and I really don't blame the poor bloke," continued Lee, sounding rather unfazed. "Gryffindor's ahead fifty to none, with Davis in possession of the Quaffle... oops, this one's exploded too, referee throws in another... still no sign of the Snitch..."

Jazz whooped, pumping both fists in the air. "For once I don't mind rootin' for Unicron!"

"Neither do I," Chisulo grinned. "I just wonder what Professor Draconis did to the Snitch..."

At that moment a flash of gold darted past, followed by a scarlet blur as the Gryffindor Seeker -- Charlie, I saw, not Percy -- hurtled after the Snitch, one arm outstretched to grasp the winged sphere. Just behind him, the Slytherin Seeker, whom I recognized as a pug-nosed kid named Higgs, reached out to grab his opponent's broom in an effort to slow him down. I wondered if I should alert Ethan to this, as I was pretty sure such a move was the Quiddich equivalent of a foul...

Charlie's fingers almost brushed the Snitch -- and he was blown backward off his broom as a bright blue-white flash and a nasty CRACK emnated from the ball. Higgs' eyes went wide and he tried to veer to the side, but he was too late to keep Charlie from slamming into him. The two Seekers went down in a heap on the grass, leaving behind a speeding broom that arced to the ground like a spent arrow and a few whisps of ozone-smelling smoke. The Snitch hovered in place a moment as if watchign the action pan out, then flashed away.

"FOUL!" howled Wood, abandoning his post as Seeker to charge toward Ethan, practically spitting sparks in his rage. "Time out! There's something wonky going on..."

"Keep your shorts on, Wood," advised Ethan. "Flint, those three goals don't count, this is a time-out..."

Meanwhile in the stands, three geeks and three action figures were almost ready to pass out from laughing too hard.

From that point on, the game just got wilder. They must have gone through about twenty Quaffles by the time the game ended. Two players lost their brooms to the Unicron figure, which had an insatiable appetite despite the fact that it was plastic, and three more brooms had been badly charred by the model Death Star's turbolaser. The Slytherin Seeker had finally nabbed the Snitch for a narrow win, though Madame Pomfrey was probably going to have a self-induced seizure when they finally dragged the fried kid up to the hospital wing. I swear, his hair looked like Einstein's.

The results of the Quiddich game -- a Slytherin victory 170-50, Ethan being barred from ever refereeing a game again on Hogwarts grounds, and the three of us dissolving into hysterical laughter whenever the dreaded words "Flying Joy Buzzer" were uttered. So maybe not all sports were a waste of time...


	14. Dawn of the Fred

**Chapter 14 -- Dawn of the Fred**

The geek club remained in sky-high spirits for the next week or so thanks to the Quidditch match -- not the fact that Slytherin had won, but that we had managed to leave our mark upon the game. The whole school was still abuzz about it, and rumors flew like stormtroopers around a ticked-off Wookie about the origins of the enchanted game balls. Some people wondered if they were dark artifacts of some kind; others theorized that they were Dragonkin game equipment (which led to wild speculation as to what the rules of the game must be if it incorporated balls that exploded, fought back, and/or ate players' brooms). Madam Hooch had recaptured the Snitch and had it under close study, while the Quaffles were kept locked away just in case Ethan had a hankering to tamper with them again. The Bludgers... were another story entirely.

Chisulo and I were slightly put out by the fact that we were never able to recapture our Death Star and Unicron models -- they had evaded all attempts at capture and vanished into the night. They were reportedly now roaming wild in the Forbidden Forest, terrorizing the centaur and unicorn populations and giving poor Hagrid more than a few headaches. Sydney, who was one of the few creatures in Hogwarts who ventured out into the forest, tracked the two of us down on a frequent basis to joyfully relate what our model world-killers were up to this time.

"Look on the bright side -- they won't have to thin the trees out when the forest gets too choked," Sydney said with a gleeful grin. "Plus it'll teach kids to not go wandering around out there."

But after awhile talk of the game gave way to talk of another upcoming event -- Halloween, or as some of the more uppity students liked to call it, All Hallow's Eve.

"I hear Hogwarts has a _spectacular_ All Hallow's Eve celebration," Luther told me on the way to Transfiguration class one day, shoving his way between Jacob and myself in order to address me. "Though I wouldn't expect a Yank to appreciate it. You don't know how to properly celebrate on your side of the water -- dressing up in cheap costumes and running from house to house gathering sweets..."

"Hey, don't knock a traditional American Halloween," I shot back. "Absolutely nothing wrong with National Support-Your-Local-Dentist Day, is there?"

He blinked at me, obviously not getting the joke.

Truth be told, I was kinda homesick for our customary Halloween nights back at home. I was really going to miss trolling the neighborhoods with my family, looting every house in every subdivision within a five-mile radius of our house for a load of junk food that would give us the jitters for two weeks solid. I smiled fondly as I recalled last Halloween -- Jefferson dripping with fake blood and too much gray makeup as a zombie, Hillary bundled up in a parka and whining about the cold, Logan encased in Master Chief armor from _Halo, _myself in a homemade Shaak Ti outfit, Athena and Apollo terrorizing every house we stopped at as Lilo and Stitch, Indy crying the whole way and making his Pikachu makeup run down his face, Egyptus feeling and acting quite regal in her Snow White costume, and Dad helping Matilda waddle along after us (she'd been eight months pregnant with Kilenya at the time). Of course, at the time I'd considered the entire affair noisy and insufferable. Now, though, I thought it was the perfect Halloween and wanted to revisit it...

"HI-YAAAH!"

Jacob and I hastily stepped to the side as Professor Draconis leaped down from a stair landing, wings spread wide and limbs arranged in an exaggerated move from a kung-fu movie. Luther wasn't as quick, and while Ethan would never go so far as to physically strike a student, he did give the kid a good fright by taking a swing and halting his hand barely an inch from his face. He went dead white and squealed like a Jawa caught in the treads of his own sandcrawler.

"Nice reflexes, Woodruff and Wall," he told the two of us. "Macnair, you need to work on that a little, all right? If I'd been a real ninja I could've snapped your neck."

Luther tried to scowl but found his features wouldn't cooperate. "When am I ever going to face a ninja?"

"You'd be surprised, kid. Go change your pants, then head to class. Jake, Em, I'll walk you to class. No telling what's lurking in these hallways."

The two of us followed the Dragonkin down the corridor, snickering a little. It was nice having a teacher on our side, I had to admit.

"I think we need to plan something special for Halloween," I suggested. "I'm sure Hogwarts has a good Halloween party, but let's do something for the geeks too."

"Yeah, like a horror movie marathon," Jacob cut in. "I got Muggle friends; they can help me smuggle in some _Friday the Thirteenth _films..."

"Kid, you got no taste," Draconis told him. "Trust me, American horror's gone WAAAYYYY downhill since Freddy and Jason happened on the scene. You gotta go the Japanese or British route for anything decent. Now _The Ring _-- that's quality horror right there."

"_The Ring _was overrated," I cut in, giving my own two cents. "_The Sixth Sense _is quality horror."

"Does it have to be horror?" chimed in a new voice, and we turned around to see Jonathan behind us, looking a little pale in the face. "I'm not keen on scary movies."

A tiny head covered in a Mexican-wrestler-style mask thrust itself out of his pocket. "What are you talkin' about? Bring on the horror films! You could use a little _Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman Meets the Thing From the Planet of Death..._"

"Shut up, Strong Bad," Jonathan told him, poking him back into his pocket.

"Does that movie even exist?" asked Jacob.

"No, Strong Bad's just a freak," I replied.

"We're all freaks in our own way," Ethan replied. "Some just more obviously so than others."

"We'll put the idea to a club vote," I offered. "Let the club decide what we watch. I'm pretty sure that, whatever we decide on, the Room of Requirement will provide it. It's never let us down before."

"Good idea," Jonathan agreed.

"Sounds like a plan," Jacob put in. "I'll tell Clay. We can vote at our next meeting."

"Classtime, kids," Ethan told us, halting in front of McGonagall's classroom. "Study hard, keep your noses clean, and I'll see you in class later."

"Sure thing, Ethan," I told him.

Sydney came streaking around the corner at that moment, yelping and hissing, Jango astride his back and kicking him in the ribs as if to spur him on. Hot on his heels was a rather peeved-looking Davy Jones, perched on the hood of one of Chisulo's Transformer figures in car mode, shaking a crab-claw hand at Jango and shouting words that would have earned me a mouth-soaping session had I uttered them at home. The four of us watched them go, completely unfazed even as they scattered a group of chattering Gryffindors and toppled a suit of armor as they rounded a corner out of sight.

"We've gotta keep them under control somehow," I muttered.

"Are you kidding?" demanded Jonathan. "With those things around, I'm having the best year at Hogwarts I've ever had."

_Break..._

Halloween dawned foggy and cold -- which was so appropriate for the holiday that I wondered if there were some weather-controlling wizard at Hogwarts whose sole job was to make sure the day's forecast matched the planned activities. The world seemed to simply end twenty feet away every way I looked, the eerie wall of fog blocking off any view of the rest of the world. A few kids ended up getting lost on the way to Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, though they eventually found their way back... a few of the more ornery Slytherins and Gryffindors shrieking hysterically and nursing laser burns or bite marks. Chisulo and I tried to look as innocent as possible, though our Jango and Jazz figures kept cracking up laughing.

I toughed out my classes as best I could, though for the most part no one was trying to absorb much of the lessons anyhow, and the teachers didn't seem too keen on forcing the issue. Everyone was too busy gearing up for the Halloween feast. From the excitement that filled the halls, one would have thought it was Mardi Gras or something.

After the last class I trotted to my dorm to retrieve a few figures who I knew would like to attend the feast. To my surprise, someone was already there -- Charity. She was quite intently studying my Artoo figure, tapping him with a finger and examining him from every angle. Artoo quietly submitted to her scrutiny, beeping softly every now and again, occasionally turning to give her a better look from another angle.

"I think he likes you," I told her.

She jumped and glared at me. "I was just looking."

"I know." I held open the pocket of my robe to let Vader, Maul, and Grievous climb in next to Jango. "I was just saying he must like you. He doesn't normally let people touch him."

Artoo chirruped happily and nuzzled her finger. She jerked it back as if he'd bitten her.

"I'm not into this geek stuff," she insisted, standing and leaving the dorm with a huff. "I'm not a Muggle."

I shrugged and turned to address the rest of the figures. "Meet me in the Room of Requirement after the feast for the movie marathon, all right?"

A collective cheer rose from the figures, and I grinned and followed Charity out. The club had taken a vote and decided on a zombie movie marathon -- _Shaun of the Dead, Army of Darkness, _and maybe _28 Days Later _if we had the time (or any stomach left). I'd never seen a zombie movie before -- unless one counted _High School Musical _or _From Justin To Kelly _-- as they were on the list of contraband materials back at home, so this would be a novel experience for me.

Speaking of novels, I snagged _Heir to the Empire _for reading during the feast, just in case things did get boring.

Smart call there -- I dunno what the other kids saw in the Halloween feast, but personally I found it about as exciting as watching paint dry. True, there were jack-o-lanterns as big as Volkswagons hanging in midair over the tables, live bats swooping down from the ceiling, and so many cobwebs festooning the walls and school banners that it looked like we were hosting a party for the school's spiders as well as the students. But other than that, the only difference from an ordinary Hogwarts dinner (if there was such a thing) was that the faculty felt the need to make us sit through some Halloween-themed musical numbers. I'd suffered through my share of these in grade school, and I really didn't have the urge to sit through another of them, even if they jazzed it up with some magical special effects somehow.

On the plus side, there weren't any of the typically cheesy Halloween songs about witches and ghosts and black cats. On the other hand, though, the selections they did pick were a little creepy. There was a choral number by a group of Hufflepuffs about "Something Wicked This Way Comes," an instrumental and dance number performed by animated skeletons, and an operatic solo by Professor Sinistra that sounded vaguely like Latin, though she hit so many high notes that my eardrums were too raw to care after awhile.

"I dunno about the rest of you, but I'm thinking we should cut out early for the movie," I told the other geeks, who had all conveniently sat together at the Hufflepuff table.

"What?" asked Hans, twisting a finger in his ear as if trying to clear it of Sinistra's caterwauling.

"I said let's cut out early for the movie," I repeated. "Don't think there's a rule saying we have to stay for the entire feast."

Everyone else agreed, so we signaled Fred and George over at the Gryffindor table, fished a nearly-asleep Maul out of the jam and a giggling Jack Sparrow out of the butterbeer (no one had bothered to tell him the stuff was non-alcoholic), ordered Batman to stop harrassing the bats, pried apart the wrestling match/food fight Starscream and Sephiroth had instigated, and left the table. We were almost to the door when Gollum -- sorry, sorry, Filch -- stepped into the doorway to bar our exit.

"And where might you be going?" he demanded suspiciously, a sour look on his face.

"Back to our dorms," Clay informed him. "We're tired and bored and would like to go to bed early..."

"No student in his or her right mind goes to bed early here," Filch hissed.

Grievous said something unrepeatable, earning a glower from the caretaker.

"I didn't teach him that, I swear," I insisted.

"Let them pass, Filch," came a quiet voice behind me. "No student should be forced to attend the feast if they don't wish to."

I recognized that voice despite only having heard it a few times this year, and I whirled in place. Sure enough, Dumbledore had left the staff table and was now standing directly behind Demeter and Melody, both girls shifting nervously at the proximity of the school's headmaster. He was smiling slightly and arching a curious eyebrow at Filch.

"Just doing my job, sir," Filch told him in an oily voice, slinking backward like a wolf confronted with a grizzly or other threat. "Don't want students stirring up mischief, that's all..."

"Not to worry, Filch," Dumbledore assured him. "Professor Draconis will be accompanying these students. He will ensure they return safely to their dormitories."

I noticed that Dumbledore failed to mention exactly _when _Ethan planned on making sure we reached our dorms, and I had a suspicion that he knew exactly what we were up to... and didn't care in the slightest.

"You can count on me," grinned Ethan, saluting with a click of his heels.

Dumbledore chuckled a little. "Off with you, then." He turned to go, seemed to recall something, and turned toward me, dipping his hand into his pocket. "Oh, Emily, this belongs to you. My apologies for absconding with him, but he did make for stimulating conversation during dinner tonight."

I took my Qui-gon figure back. "Not a problem, Headmaster Dumbledore. Heck, you can borrow him whenever."

"I shall take you up on that. And good night, Miss Wall."

Chisulo snickered a little as Ethan led the geek club and the twins through the corridors.

"What's so funny?" asked Robert.

"Oh, nothing," he replied brightly. "Just that 'Headmaster' has a double meaning for those of us who know our Transformers."

"Spare us for now, let's start the movies," I advised him. "And let's hope the Room of Requirement remembers to stock snacks. I dunno what exactly was in that steak pie they served at dinner, but I ain't eating something that twitches."

"That would've been the Daleks," Ethan replied. "Apparently the house elves down in the kitchens have their own creative ways of dealing with annoying action figures."

I groaned. Maybe I was better off not knowing.

_Break..._

I drowsily emerged from a weird dream about zombie action figures to hear Melody snoring right in my ear and Ethan muttering something about "Kill all pooftahs" in his sleep. Opening my eyes, I saw a cluster of the action figures -- Luke Skywalker, Jango, Maleficent, Soundwave, Aragorn, and Yu-Gi-Oh -- piled around and on top of Sydney, who in turn was curled up on his master's chest and deeply asleep himself. I was lying on the floor directly beneath a table, I had candy wrappers and a Dalek in my hair, my face was adhering to the floor thanks to a spilled soda, and someone's foot was hanging in my face.

Stang, if this was what a hangover was like, I couldn't wait to turn twenty-one. Judging from the aftermath of our little party, it had been a good one.

I peeled myself off the floor, pushed Jacob's foot aside (why he was sleeping on the table I could only speculate), combed my fingers through my hair to get rid of the garbage and Dalek, and had a good look around. The Room of Requirement looked as if the action figures had re-enacted the Beaches of Normandy or something like that -- snack wrappers, drink containers, pillows, overturned chairs, and bodies big and small littered the floor. The menu screen for _Army of Darkness _was still shining in the fireplace, and I took a second to turn off the wizard-style DVD player before picking my way over comatose geeks and straightening up a little. A few of the action figures roused and began to help, picking up garbage or scrubbing at sticky spots on the floor. Good to know they were beginning to mature enough to start taking some responsibility...

I paused in the act of righting a table that had been tipped over, doing a mental head count. Jacob, Clay, Melody, Ethan, Chisulo, Daniel, John, Robert, Demeter... I didn't see Hans right away, then caught sight of his slipper-clad feet poking out from behind a couch. Who was missing... Fred and George!

If anyone else (except perhaps Ethan) had been absent, I might have simply decided they'd gone back to their dorms to sleep and gone back to cleanup. But this was the Weasleys we were talking about, and I just knew they had something evil up their sleeves...

The _Independence Day _poster just to my right suddenly split, a great rift obliterating the image of a giant UFO blasting the White House. I whirled and instinctively raised the pillow I was just picking up as a makeshift shield. Okay, so not the most effective of shields, but it was something, wasn't it?

My stomach lurched as one of the most horrific creatures I'd ever laid eyes on burst from the torn poster, arms extended stiffly before it, shuffling forward as if its knee joints were locked. It looked vaguely human, but a human too far gone to identify as any particular individual -- rotted eye sockets staring blankly ahead, mouth hanging open and drooling discolored slime, gray-tan skin and flesh flaking away from its frame, ragged clothing hanging valiantly on by a few fraying threads. With a gurgling cry it staggered toward me, reaching out to grab me...

And probably would have succeeded had it not stomped on Clay's fingers on the way.

Clay's painful shriek awakened everyone in the room, geek and action figure alike, and everyone reacted in interesting ways. Some groaned sleepily and rubbed their eyes or temples, muttering grouchily; others screamed themselves and grabbed weapons, chairs, or whatever they could find to defend themselves. Sydney shot four feet in the air, scattering the action figures using him as a mattress in all directions, and streaked inside a cabinet. Jango also went airborne, though he activated his jetpack to stay there and drew his guns, taking careful aim at the rotting animated corpse. Ethan's transformation was spectacular -- one second he was sprawled on the floor, drooling and muttering rubbish about a microwave, a steel bowl, and strawberry Jello; the next second he was on his feet in a battle stance, every muscle in his body tensed for combat, wings half-spread to make him look larger than life and an unlikely but deadly-looking weapon clutched in his hands.

"Where'd he get a chain saw?" demanded Jacob, rubbing his head -- Clay's scream had startled him out of slumber so badly he'd fallen off the table.

"Dunno," I replied. "I'd like to know why he's duct-taping it to his hand."

Ethan finished his taping job, then revved the saw and stalked forward, a look of deadly intent in his eyes. The zombie bellowed again and lurched toward the Dark Arts professor.

"It's an Inferi!" howled Melody. "You-Know-Who's supporters must be at Hogwarts!"

"Don't be an idiot," Robert snapped. "No one connected to You-Know-Who would dare set foot here..."

A second zombie burst from a _Lord of the Rings _poster and staggered toward Ethan. It raised its arms, gave a strangled cry... and sneezed violently.

The first zombie dropped its arms and gave its partner an exasperated look. "Nice going, dimwit."

"It's not like I could control it," the second zombie snapped, rubbing the remains of its nose.

"Fred?" squeaked Hans, creeping out from behind the couch. "George?"

Ethan lowered the chainsaw, grinning. "Hot damn, those are nice costumes, boys!"

"Thanks," the first zombie -- Fred -- said with a grin, peeling patches of fake zombie skin off his face to reveal healthy human skin. "Was a bugger to whip it up, especially in so short a time."

"I thought the colored drool was a nice touch," Jango informed them, settling down on a table.

"Why thanks!" George gushed, pulling off the patches that covered his eyes.

"Good to see _Shaun of the Dead _and _Army of Darkness _could inspire you," I told them. "Heck, maybe we can get you to dress up and freak out Snape sometime..."

"Cripes!" yelped Jacob. "Talking of Snape, he's going to wonder why we aren't in our dormitories!"

Ethan clapped his hands to draw attention -- or at least clapped one hand against the casing of the chainsaw. "All students follow me! All action figures get this room in working order again! We have half an hour before your heads of houses start dragging kids out of bed -- if we hurry we can get you to your dorms before then."

We ducked out of the room of requirement and hustled off. Clay, Daniel, Hans, and Robert rushed for the kitchens, led by Syndey; John and Demeter dashed for Ravenclaw Tower while Chisulo and the twins hurried toward Gryffindor Tower. Ethan personally escorted Melody, Jacob, and me down to the dungeons. We saw no sign of Snape, Filch, or the mangy cat, so I figured we were in the clear...

"Going somewhere?"

"Poodoo," I hissed.

"Top o' th' mornin', Snape," Ethan greeted in an exaggerated Irish accent, turning to face the Potions teacher. "Just escortin' this lad an' lassie back to bed, th' lil' buggers..."

"I don't recall seeing them return to their dormitories last night," Snape noted, eyes glittering with malice.

"You must have been looking the wrong way," Jacob said with a quaver in his voice. Poor kid was a lousy liar.

"Come with me, Woodruff and Wall," Snape ordered coldly. "Headmaster Dumbledore wants to talk to you -- and every other student out of their beds last night -- personally." That last was said with a hint of glee, and I felt my guts chill. Surely he wouldn't expel us...

"Why, what's going on?" For the first time since I'd met him, Ethan's voice took on a serious tone.

"There was an attack last night," Snape replied. "An attack on a fellow student. And the culprit was someone obsessed with Muggle culture."


	15. Cue the Mission Impossible Theme

**Chapter 15 -- Cue the Mission Impossible Theme...**

I had the distinct feeling that getting called to the Headmaster's office was a lot more serious than reporting to the principal's office. For one thing, it seemed that teachers handled most punishments just fine, dishing out detentions and docking points instead of dumping the dirty duty on someone with more authority. And for another thing, Dumbledore didn't strike me to be the type that got fed up with the students' antics easily -- if anything, he seemed to encourage them in what they were doing if it was amusing and/or harmless. So for the entire geek club to get hauled up to his office meant something serious was up. A student attacked? How badly? Were they hurt at all, or just freaked out? And how did they have proof that it was someone familiar with Muggle culture... and worse still, why did they automatically assume it was one of our group?

Standing in Dumbledore's office, surrounded by the club members and Snape looming behind me trying to give off bad-cop vibes but only succeeding in seriously creeping me out, I wished I had the guts to voice these questions, but the Headmaster was giving me a look that managed to keep my mouth shut.

"This is a serious matter," he said gravely, though strangely without anger. "So I would appreciate it if you were all honest with me and did not attempt to be cheeky. The more you cooperate, the sooner we can get to the bottom of this."

Professor Flitwick scurried in at that moment, followed by a student -- Artemis Peridot, the Ravenclaw who had been friendly with me that first day but promptly shunned me when I'd been made a Slytherin. Dumbledore paused in addressing us to talk to Flitwick, giving me the chance to sneak a look around his office. A circular room whose walls were crammed with bookcases and paintings of old fogeys I could only assume were old Headmasters and Headmistresses, it looked to be a place I could happily poke around in given the chance. There were several tables covered with all sorts of silvery instruments that spun, smoked, hummed with energy, or made the occasional beeping or chiming noise, as well as a perch where a red-and-gold bird the size of a hawk regarded us, his feathers looking slightly ratty but his eyes still gleaming a youthful gold. And on the shelf behind his desk, the Sorting Hat was perched, looking for all the world like a dusting rag that Dumbledore's cleaning lady had forgotten to pack out of the room with her.

"Nice place," said Melody quietly, looking around. "Wonder what all those thingamabobs do."

"Only one way to find out," Ethan replied, and before anyone could stop him he had drawn his wand and was poking at something that resembled an especially ornate Jacob's ladder.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Demeter asked.

"Thank you for waiting patiently, students," Dumbledore said at that moment... but before he could go on he was interrupted by a small explosion as the whatever-it-was detonated in Ethan's face. He blinked, stunned, his face covered in soot and his glasses blackened beyond recovery, then gave a low whistle.

"Thing packs a punch," he noted.

"Indeed it does," Dumbledore replied with an amused smile. "But I would appreciate it if you left destroying my office until a more convenient time, Professor Draconis."

"Yessir," he replied with a goofy grin.

"Now then." Dumbledore clasped his hands before him and regarded each of us in turn with his penetrating blue gaze, as if using some kind of wizard's Force trick to scan our brains. "Could you students please explain where you were and what you were up to last night? Also, is there anyone who can verify your wherebouts?"

"We were..." I began, but felt my voice drift into silence. I was leery about letting anyone outside the geek club know about the Room of Requirement -- not only would it give away our hiding place and allow students and faculty with harassment on their minds to find us, but it just might give some of the more evil-minded students ideas. Hey, who wouldn't be tempted by a room that could fulfill whatever purpose you had in mind at that moment?

"They were in my office watching horror movies all night," Ethan provided. "They all kinda drifted off in the middle of the last one, so I just let 'em camp out on the floor. Was just getting 'em back to their dorms when Snape stopped us."

Thank you, Ethan! I would have hugged him on the spot were we not currently in Dumbledore's office.

"Really," drawled Snape from behind me, his voice slithering through the room and reminding me of something I'd found under a rock. "Interesting, that, seeing as I passed by your office last night and it was as quiet as a tomb."

"Y'know, 'quiet as a tomb' has got to be one of the most overused descriptive phrases I've ever heard," Ethan said in a far too chipper tone. "For one thing, if you watch horror films, tombs are rarely quiet, what with all the screaming chicks and squeaking rats and reanimated corpses bursting out of their coffins. Why not try something a little more original? Something like 'quiet as a fish' or 'quiet as a brick' or 'quiet as the inside of a Sith-erin's head...'"

"Enough, Ethan," Dumbledore said calmly.

"'Sides, ain't you ever heard of a Silencing Charm?" Ethan concluded, determined to get in the last word.

"Indeed I have," Snape retorted. "However, there is the matter of watching Muggle motion pictures -- however did you manage that? The equipment necessary to use them is rendered inoperable by Hogwarts' magical wards..."

"Now Severus, no need to be accusatory," Dumbledore told the Potions Master in a placating tone. "There are magical means to access Muggle motion pictures."

Snape scowled but decided to drop it.

"If I could pry a little, Dumbledore," Ethan went on, "what exactly happened to the little lady here?"

My attention turned to Artemis, who's eyes were red from crying and who had a lace-trimmed hanky pressed against her face as if to dam up a flood. She didn't appear to be injured at all, so whatever it was hadn't been a physical attack. But while I hadn't had the misfortune to be a bully magnet in Muggle schools, I'd had enough run-ins with them to know it didn't take a physical blow to hurt someone -- and sometimes an emotional or psychological attack could wound more deeply.

"A rather excessive case of vandalism, I'm afraid," Dumbledore explained, and he turned to a long table that I hadn't noticed before, one covered with a large gray sheet. He pulled the cover off to reveal the table's contents.

Several students gasped, Ethan gave a low whistle, and I winced. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to go through Artemis' personal stuff and thoroughly destroy it. Clothes were shredded and stained, books were scribbled and doodled in on what looked like every page, Potions beakers were smashed or cracked, and a couple of stuffed animals that were no doubt intended to be reminders of home had been brutally dismembered. For a moment I wondered if someone had kidnapped a couple of my siblings and turned them loose in Ravenclaw Tower, but I had to dismiss that possibility. Not only was it pretty improbable that they would have trashed her stuff -- they would have made a beeline for the dungeons first, having incredibly acute Emily's Stuff Radar -- but I had never seen them commit an act of sabotague THIS severe. The occasional gutted Beanie Baby and mangled action figure, yes, but never someone's entire wardrobe.

"Nasty," muttered Daniel. "Just nasty."

"Who'd be so cruel to do this?" demanded Clay, looking near tears in sympathy for Artemis.

"Who indeed, Miss Claycomber?" demanded Snape coolly, and he opened one of the textbooks and ruffled the pages as if looking for something in particular. "I think you know perfectly well, the lot of you." He seemed to find what he was looking for and set the book back down. "Everyone take a look."

I felt my stomach jar in disbelief. Half the page had been smothered in ink... and tiny footprints tracked across the rest of the page, tracks just big enough to belong to an action figure.

"That doesn't prove anything!" protested Clay.

"Then explain these," Snape demanded, turning the page. Here insults and profanity had been scrawled across the text -- and doodled in the margins were symbols that probably looked like random scribbles to most wizards but actually meant something to the rest of us.

"That's the Starfleet Insignia!" exclaimed Robert.

"And that looks like Elvish!" Daniel gaped, pointing at a line of vaguely Arabic-looking scrawls beneath a diagram.

"Looks like Elvis? Where?" demanded Ethan, grabbing the book and flipping through. The stunned look on his face gave way to a scowl, one that cleary said that he didn't like where his own logic was taking him. He began muttering to himself as he identified the symbols graffitied into the book: "Imperial insignia... Rebel crest... Mandalorian crest... Stargate badge... Autobot insignia... kanji... is that Trogdor?"

Snape gave a triumphant grin. "It seems the Hogwarts Science Fiction Club has been up to some nasty business in their weekly meetings..."

"Oh come now, Snape," Ethan defended, snapping the book shut and shaking it at Snape like a fist. "How many Muggles are there in Hogwarts anyhow? Hundreds! Lots of students know about this kind of stuff, not just these kids."

"And how many would know about ALL of them?" countered Snape. "Much less have the inclination to humiliate other students for alienating them."

"Now see here!" Ethan barked, bringing his fist down to slam onto the table. Unfortunately, he seemed to have forgotten that there was still a chainsaw taped to one hand, and he only succeeded in halfway slicing the table in half. "Oopsie. Uh... I can pay for that..."

Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. "By all means take no concern for my possessions," he replied easily. "I daresay I have too many of them anyhow. But back to the subject at hand." He turned to Artemis. "Young lady, did you happen to see the person or persons who damaged your belongings?"

She sobbed once and shook her head, her curly red hair bobbing all over the place as she did so.

"I see." He considered a moment. "Have any of the students given any indication that they don't like you?"

"L-Luther M-M-Macnair," she stuttered thickly. "B-b-but he doesn't l-like anyb-b-body..."

"Anyone else?"

She shook her head again.

"Are you accusing a student from my house of this crime?" demanded Snape, narrowing his eyes.

"Like we're not students from his house?" muttered Jacob in my ear.

Ethan shot us a cautionary look and gestured for us to stop talking. Seeing as he was making the gesture with the chain saw, we took the hint and shut up.

"I doubt it was Macnair, Snape, seeing as he was serving detention with Professor McGonagall at the time. However, I'm not in the habit of accusing anyone of anything until I have more substantial proof than simple dislike. Innocent until proven guilty, after all."

"And what about these?" He gestured at the geek-graffiti-plastered books.

"Ethan makes a valid point. Knowledge of Muggle science fiction and fantasy is not necessarily limited to these students. If we were to accuse them, we would have to accuse any student who has so much as glanced at a television show or skimmed through a Muggle-written novel. And as they have a trusted witness that states that they were occupied all night, I am inclined to believe they are innocent." He turned to us students. "You may return to your dormitories. Except you, Fred and George Weasley -- I want another look at your intriguing costumes before you leave."

While the twins showed off for Dumbledore, the rest of us hustled out of the office, followed by Snape's icy glower. No doubt he'd been hoping to send at least one of us packing this morning. For a moment I wondered if he hadn't set this up, but it didn't seem to be his style.

"Someone's setting us up," Chisulo declared, speaking for the group. "But who?"

"Not a bloody clue," muttered Clay. "If anyone has any ideas..."

I recalled something just then, and I felt my jaw tighten. "Just before the Halloween feast, there was a Slytherin playing around with my action figures. Her name's Charity Nigellus."

Melody groaned. "Charity's from a very highborn wizarding family. Her parents were under investigation for awhile for attacking Muggles unprovoked -- the investigation was called off for some reason, though."

"Probably paid the Ministry a load of gold," Ethan grumbled, then stared blankly as students turned to look at him. "What? Your Ministry ain't any less corrupt than American politics, is it?"

"It's probably more corrupt," muttered Demeter.

"But anyhow, her family's always been highly Muggle-phobic," Melody continued. "So I'm not sure why she'd be playing around with action figures... unless she was gathering information."

I smiled. "Thanks, Mel. Anyone else see Charity trying to get a good look at your action figures or other geeky stuff?"

"No," John replied.

"I don't even know what she looks like," Chisulo put in.

I sighed. "Then we're either following a red herring or she's got accomplices. Either way, we need to investigate and make sure."

Ethan grinned. "I know just the way to do it, too."

"What, interrogation droid?" I asked.

"Nope," he replied. "Veritaserum."

"Is that legal to use on a student?" asked Jacob.

"More importantly, where's he going to get Veritaserum?" asked Hans. "Snape's the only one in the school who can..."

"I'm a fairly talented Potions Master myself, kids," Ethan replied. "I can whip us up some Veritaserum, but it'll take time to brew. Until then, keep your eyes and ears peeled for info, all right? And spread the word among the action figures. So long as they're listening to us now, it makes sense to take advantage of them."

"Right," I replied. "Operation Vandal Hunter is underway."

_Break..._

I'd given our little mission the name Operation Vandal Hunter as a joke, but apparently it caught on. Every club meeting now included an update on "Vandal Hunter," and occasionally at meals or in classrooms notes were passed back and forth with a big VH emblazoned on them to indicate their content. Occasionally an action figure would approach me and whisper "Vandal positive" or "Vandal negative" to indicate whether they'd found anything of use since they last saw me, and in Defense Against the Dark Arts class Jacob, Melody, and I were often kept after class to receive tips or information from Ethan. Usually the tips were pretty mundane -- advising us to send a few figures to the kitchens to inquire of the house elves, for instance -- but sometimes he'd come up with a real doozy of an idea. I didn't know if it was possible to bug the school's Floo Network, as I didn't even know how it worked.

Other students, meanwhile, began to complain. It wasn't just the Daleks that were popping up in weird places anymore, oh no. Agatha, the Slytherin prefect, came running into the common room in a bathrobe one night, dripping wet and hysterical, to report having encountered a kraken in the prefect baths. Kenobi arrived to deliver mail from home looking rather cranky and a little singed from time to time; we later learned this was the direct result of a collection of Hans' GaoGaiGar figures deciding to "investigate" the Owlery and getting carried away in protecting themselves from the birds. (At least it explained the screamed "DIVIDING DRIVER!" we'd all heard at three in the friggin' morning...) And Jango made a pest of himself following Snape around, hiding in cauldrons and cabinets and desk drawers in an effort to glean what info he could from the Potions professor. It was a wonder he survived to see Christmas at that rate.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around (at least the date for it, as the British didn't celebrate it), we were no further along in our investigation. We had a lot of interesting bits and pieces collected -- mysterious packages under Charity's bed, Snape rubbing his left forearm from time to time, two students in Hufflepuff who made it a habit to sneak out to the lake from time to time doing Force-knows-what -- but nothing definite. The action figures had been kicked, thrown across rooms, cursed and jinxed, and had cats sicced on them more times than they could count, and more than a few had called it quits from Operation Vandal Hunter. We were all frustrated -- and worried, for who knew when our geek imposter would strike again, and how severe this next strike would be?

Ethan hoped to change that... though in a way I couldn't have predicted.

"A Thanksgiving party?" I asked him, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, a Thanksgiving party," Ethan replied, his feet propped up on his desk as he leaned back in his chair. "And seeing as I hail from the Bay State myself, I figure I know how to throw a classic old-fashioned Turkey Day."

"What's a turkey?" demanded Jango from my shoulder.

"I'll tell you later," I replied.

As the club officers, Clay and I had been called to Ethan's office to discuss our next step in Operation Vandal Hunter, seeing as the leads provided by our plastic spies were coming up drier than a Tatooine riverbed. While standing there I noted that he'd redecorated the place since I'd last been in. Instead of weaponry and the tapestry map on the walls, there were pipes and tubes of all sizes and lengths snaking up and down the walls and even snarling up the ceiling. Some of the pipes were opaque, while others were transparent and full of liquids of all different colors. These pipes sucked up fluid from cauldrons and vats and tanks, or they dripped said fluids into carefully placed beakers and bottles. Some sections of pipe were illuminated with tiny lights, as if exposure to light were vital to the distillation process; others were bundled in ice to chill them or glowing slightly with enchanted flame to warm them. Whatever was going on in here, it looked WAY too complicated for a first-year Potions student to try and figure out.

"Didn't I tell you I was a Potions Master?" Ethan reminded me when he caught me staring. "May not be as experienced as your dear old Professor Snape, but I get the job done. And with my own style, too. Whoopsie, one sec." One of the hourglasses -- there was a whole row of them across his desk -- had just run out and given a loud chime, and he quickly hopped to his feet, ran to one of the cauldrons, and gave it a brisk stir. Then he sat back down, flipped the hourglass back over, and reclined again.

"Gotta make sure I keep stirring the things regularly," he explained.

"Why not just use a self-stirring cauldron?" I asked.

"Eh, they're overrated," Ethan said with a shrug. "The wizard equivalent of an electric mixer is all. Just plain lazy."

"How is a Thanksgiving feast supposed to help us catch the vandal?" asked Clay, bringing us back to the subject at hand.

"Oh, let the suspects' guards down a little, let 'em let something slip," he replied easily.

"You mean we're going to invite a bunch of Slytherins to the feast?" I asked, incredulous. "The minute they find out the geek club's hosting it, they'll say no."

Ethan shrugged. "Who says we have to let them know the geek club's in on it? I'll just send out invitations -- and mention that it's an EXCLUSIVE party. That'll pique interest."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Professor," said Clay warily.

One of the pipes on the ceiling suddenly cracked, spraying hot pink fluid all over. Ethan whistled sharply, and the Doctor Who figure that had been lying on a copy of the _Daily Prophet _to catch up on the headlines stood and clambered up the tubing on the walls, pulling something out of his pocket to repair the broken pipe.

"Let's hear it for the sonic screwdriver," Ethan said with a grin.

"Let's get out of here before another pipe explodes," I suggested to Clay, and we said a quick goodbye and hurried out of the office.

A few days later, I found myself standing outside the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, surrounded by other students and wondering in the name of both sides of the Force I'd signed up for.

The geek club members were all present, as were Fred and George. (The action figures, save those few like Jango and Spiderman who had taken to hanging out with their owners constantly, were curiously absent.) But there was far more than our usual crew here -- plenty of other students had been invited. Luther Macnair stood off to the side, shooting us suspicious looks from time to time. The Evil Duo (minus Melody -- she'd been booted from their min-clique when they'd discovered she'd joined our club) hung out close by him, whispering and snickering. A couple other Slytherins were present, as were a handful of Gryffindors, a few Ravenclaws, and a lone Hufflepuff who leaned against the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets, glowering dimly at the world from under heavy eyebrows. Even Snape was here, hands clasped behind his back and an air of haughty distaste on his face, as if he thought it beneath himself to be here.

It was an odd group here... except for one fact. Save the geek club members and the twins, they were all suspects in Operation Vandal Hunter.

"I sure hope this works," muttered O'Niel from Clay's pocket.

"If not, we know who to blame," muttered Spiderman from Jacob's shoulder.

"When is he going to open the door?" demanded Luther. "The invitations said it should have started ten minutes ago."

"Hold your horses," I told him. "Good things are worth waiting for."

The door swung open at that moment, and I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing. Other students had no such reservations and giggled openly.

"Go on and laugh," Ethan told them, beaming. "At least I'm dressed for the occasion."

Overdressed was more like it. I'd thought the image of a Dragonkin playing the bagpipes had been jarring, but that didn't compare to the image of a Dragonkin dressed in Puritan regalia, complete with the flowerpot hat with the buckle and the blunderbus or whatever the heck that gun was called slung over one shoulder. Sydney sulked by his feet, having been crammed into a turkey costume and wearing an expression of utter indignation.

"Come in one and all," Ethan greeted, gesturing into the room. "Sit yourselves down for the feast and let us give thanks for the bounty we are about to receive!"

The students oohed and aahed at the feast that had been spread out before them, and I felt my mouth water as the smells hit me -- turkey with all the trimmings, ham for those who disliked bird, several different kinds of potatoes and stuffing, corn on the cob, rolls and biscuits with butter and honey, I don't know how many different kinds of salad and pies... in short, so much food I wondered if he'd spent the last three days in the kitchens getting it all ready.

"Courtesy of the castle's house elves," Ethan informed us, debunking that thought quickly. "Be sure to go down to the kitchens and thank them afterward."

"Thank a house elf?" sniffed Luther, sitting down at the table.

"Now this is a traditional Thanksgiving dinner as eaten in America, though it's not what the pilgrims first ate when they celebrated Thanksgiving," Ethan lectured as people sat down and began loading up their plates. "Back in that day they were struggling to get their colony started, so they had to make do with what was available. There was turkey, yes, but also venison, eels, crayfish, turnips..."

"I thought we were trying to eat here," I complained.

As food was passed around and plates filled, Ethan walked around the room and filled glasses with steaming apple cider. I noticed he filled the glasses of those not in the geek club first, then filled ours from a seperate pitcher. I began to clue in as to Ethan's plan, and I wondered if the Veritaserum had any taste to it, or if people like Snape might somehow have built up an immunity to it.

At first the feast was carried out in a stony silence, the geeks and the suspects shoveling food in their mouths without so much as looking at each other. But gradually, as the Veritaserum began to work its way through the suspects' systems and take hold, they began to relax and chatter amongst themselves and even to the geeks. The geeks, in return, let down their guard a little and talk, encouraging the others to keep talking and maybe let something slip. No one asked direct questions -- we didn't want to tip anyone off on what we were hunting for.

"I wish feasts at my father's house were this nice and relaxed," said Felicity wistfully, picking up a piece of chocolate pie and shoving half of it in her mouth. "All I ever hear from my parents is lectures on good manners and a lot of blather about how proud I should be of being a pureblood."

"At least your parents'll eat with you," complained Luther. "My father's always off on assignments for the Ministry of Magic, destroying dangerous animals for the Department of Magical Creatures. And my mum always has her stupid friends over for meals, and if I'm not helping serve the old bags I'm given a plate and told to go eat in the kitchen while they gab and stuff their faces in the dining hall." He sighed and applied himself to drowning his sorrows in sweet potatoes.

"So it's good that you're at school and away from all that junk, right?" I asked carefully, stabbing a slice of ham.

"Yeah, but then you have to put up with all the Muggle kids," humphed the Hufflepuff after a long pull from his cider glass. "And THIS year we've got geeks as well. And I don't care if Dumbledore's let 'em off the hook, I STILL think one of them attacked that Ravenclaw girl."

"Exactly my thought, Duncan," Snape said with a grin, his normally sallow face looking a little rosy. Apparently Veritaserum made its victims pretty mellow...

"I hear it was Filch," said Montague through a mouthful of roll. "He wants the geeks expelled so they'll either take their action figures with them or he can have permission to exterminate them somehow."

"You're all mental," a Ravenclaw piped up. "Artemis did it herself."

"Why would she destroy her own possessions?" asked Ethan, arching an eye ridge. "Are you sure of this, Adeline?"

"Positive. I even watched her do it. And when she was done she told me not to tell a soul or she'd have her older sister jinx me. And her older sister's a seventh-year, she knows some wicked jinxes..."

I nearly had to scoop my jaw out of my plate. "Artemis Peridot trashed her own stuff just to get back at the geeks?"

"Not the geeks," Adeline said, the Veritaserum-induced speech now directed straight at me. "Just you."


	16. Mr Sith Goes To Hogwarts

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this chapter took so long! I had issues with real life and other projects to update and catch up on. Hopefully the next chapter doesn't take so long..._

**Chapter 16 -- Mr. Sith Goes To Hogwarts**

"What are you doing up here?"

I looked up from petting Kenobi (the owl, not the Jedi, get your head out of the gutter) and turned to face my tiny visitor. "Angsting, why?"

"Stop it," he advised, planting his hands on his fists and craning his neck to glower at me.

"Why, 'cause excessive brooding and angsting's your job?" I retorted, but I picked him up and set him on the knee Kenobi wasn't perched on anyhow. Despite Jango being my favorite of the living action figures, my animated Bespin Duel Darth Vader had managed to snag a soft spot in my heart. Hey, if there was a Star Wars fan out there who didn't like Darth Vader at all, I had yet to meet them.

Vader settled down on my knee, and we looked out over the grounds of Hogwarts together. I'm pretty physically awkward and have never been too fond of extreme sports, but I do have one quirk that would make plenty of X-athletes jealous -- I have absolutely no fear of heights. It's driven Dad and Matilda into hysterics before, especially several times when I was a tiny kid and they caught me sitting on the roof launching the Barbie dolls Matilda had bought me over the edge. (Geez, from the way they reacted, you'd have thought I didn't even have a safety line tied...) I just knew if they saw me now, perched on the sill of the Owlery's main window with my feet dangling a couple hundred feet over the ground below, they'd probably blow a gasket. But hey, they weren't here to fuss, leaving me free to enjoy the view as much as I could and brood as long as I pleased. I was doing more brooding than viewing -- never mind that it was a pretty view, what with the clear starry sky with a full moon illuminating the frost-crusted grounds with an eerie but beautiful silver glow.

If anything, that danged full moon only depressed me more -- it meant that Melody wasn't around to commiserate with me. She would be locked up in her little room in the dungeons about now, snoozing off a taming-potion hangover while waiting for this month's lupinism to pass. Jacob, likewise, was unavailable, being holed up in detention with Snape for botching a poison antidote and making the resulting goop catch fire and burn the Potions Master's desk to the ground. Even Ethan and Syndey weren't around to cheer me up in their weird way -- the kraken action figure had blown a water pipe in the prefect's bathroom and flooded the outside hallway in the process, and a whole team of teachers had been drafted into fixing the damage and keeping nosy students away from the mess. I was left alone, and I didn't like that at all.

"What is bothering you?" Vader inquired.

"Artemis Peridot," I replied. "I don't understand it. Okay, so she's avoided me ever since I became a Slytherin, but she's never given any indication that she hates me. Or at least that she hates me enough to wreck her own stuff to get me expelled."

"Has she even attempted conversation with you since the Sorting?" asked Vader, scowling at Kenobi as the owl beat his wings for no apparent reason, blowing his cape askance.

"Once, but I started the conversation," I replied. "I tried to be polite the first day of Dark Arts class, but she blew me off. Said that the Sorting Hat must have seen a 'darkness' in me to put me in Slytherin, and that her family lost a lot of friends in the wizard war and she didn't want to go through that."

Vader nodded slowly, pondering that. "So it seems it isn't you she hates. Rather, it's the idea of potentially befriending you and then losing you that she hates. It is a trait common in many who have lost loved ones in some way, such as widows and widowers, or children in the foster care system. Rather than risk getting hurt again, they will do strange or drastic things to push away anyone who threatens to get close." He brushed a few puffs of down off his cloak. "She isn't as bad as some -- she has friends. But she does not want a 'high-risk' friend, one that she would be in danger of losing somehow."

I looked down at the figure with a quirked eyebrow. "Since when were you a shrink... excuse me, a psychiatrist?"

He laughed a little, an odd staticky sound like the sputtering of a radio that's between stations. "You know as well as I do that I know the danger of drastic actions. And I guarantee that Artemis regrets having taken such drastic action against you now."

I snorted. "Yeah right."

"Talk to her, Emily," Vader encouraged. "If nothing else, to see how much she truly hates you, if it is indeed you she hates." He spoke as if he highly doubted that option. "The club doesn't need another enemy, after all."

"I can't just waltz up to her and ask her why she hates me," I complained. "She won't even look at me."

"Let me amend that," Vader retorted. "You have twenty-four hours to question Artemis. If by this time tomorrow you have not yet discussed this matter with her and do not have a good excuse for not doing so, the action figures will... encourage you. And it will not be a pleasant experience."

I remembered how Strong Bad and The Cheat had joined forces with the Vampire Hunter D crew a few days ago to apply Sticking Patches to the seat of every chair in the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms, then planted evidence in each house's rooms to indicate it had been the rival house that had done the deed. Students were still limping around with sore bottoms, and McGonagall and Snape were still glowering at each other as if wishing they could turn the other into a hedgehog or something. Ethan, meanwhile, couldn't look either professor in the eye without snorting with laughter. No, I didn't want to push my luck with the action figures. They were starting to get as bad as the Weasley twins in their own right.

"Point taken," I replied. "I'll see what I can do."

"See that you do." He climbed down from my knee to the sill and began to depart, then seemed to remember something and turned back to me. "By the way, Emily -- Happy Birthday."

I snorted. "Some birthday."

"You survived another year. That in itself is commendable. Especially given these circumstances." And with that, he hopped down from the windowsill and was gone.

I sighed and continued to pet my owl as I watched the moon rise. I'd been twelve years old for two hours now and already the year couldn't suck any more.

_Break..._

There's just no nice way to put this -- November's a crappy month to be born in. It's cold, drab, boring, and more often than not it ends up raining on my birthday just for spite. If I had to have a fall birthday, why couldn't it be around Halloween or something? An excuse for a costume-party birthday would be cool. But no, I had to be born on that ugly cusp between fall and winter, meaning my big celebration took place amidst frost or mud or fog or just plain disgusting weather. What a way to ring in a new year of my life.

I wasn't expecting anything epic this year for my birthday -- I hadn't exactly made it public knowledge. And while the teachers here might be privy to that information, they didn't use it to kick up a fuss (though seeing as most Muggle schools quit celebrating kids' birthdays around sixth grade, that was understandable). The geek club had celebrated a few members' birthdays already, usually in the form of a cake shaped like their favorite character and a movie marathon of their choice. I figured something similar might happen this weekend for my own big day, but beyond that, I pretty much expected it to be just another day.

Dad and Matilda, apparently, had other plans.

I was engaged in yet another philosophical argument with my Yoda figure -- which, by the way, I do NOT recommend if you don't want a headache fit to make your skull pull an Alderaan on you -- and trying to fish some kind of Pokemon out of the jam when a chorus of soft rustling signalled the arrival of the mail-birds. Owls floated down to land on the tables, most being careful not to land in serving trays or servant's plates -- with a few exceptions, I noted with a smirk as one owl seemed to pass out in midair and landed in front of the Weasley pack in an explosion of feathers and porridge. Kenobi touched down in front of me and dropped off a stack of letters, giving a soft hoot and pressing his head against my hand for a second before taking off again.

"What have you got?" asked Jacob, looking up from the pack of comic books he'd just received.

"Birthday cards, looks like," I replied, holding up the envelopes.

"I didn't know it was your birthday!" Spiderman exclaimed, hopping down from Jacob's shoulder to land in a crouch by my plate. "Happy birthday then."

"Thanks, Spidey," I replied, tearing open the first card and perusing it. Grandma and Grandpa Wall, with their usual cutesy flowery birthday card with twenty bucks enclosed. Apparently they'd forgotten that American cash wasn't any good in the states. Ah well, maybe I could talk Dad into exchanging it for British money -- or better yet, wizard gold -- when I went home for Christmas.

Jango poked and prodded at another envelope, which was the size of a mattress to him. "Wasn't aware that you had family in Japan."

"That'd be Aunt Natasha and Almost-Uncle Yoshibi," I replied, taking that card next and opening it. "Dad's little sister. She's a masseuse and is going to school in Japan right now to learn acupuncture. Yoshibi's her live-in boyfriend; they're planning on getting married when she graduates and they move back to the States."

"What's acupuncture?" demanded Felicity, completely giving away the fact that she was eavesdropping on our conversation.

I normally wouldn't humor one of the Sith-erins in a case like this, but I couldn't resist in this instance. "A Japanese art of healing disease by sticking needles into your skin at various points." Okay, so it was a bit more complex than that, but at least I got the gist of it down -- enough of it to see Felicity blanch and back away as if I'd just announced I had leprosy.

"Eww!" squealed Charity, who also happened to be snooping. "That's disgusting! Why are you Muggles so weird anyhow?"

"Look who's talking," I muttered under my breath as I pulled out their card. On the plus side, Aunt Natasha didn't go the cuddly route and had instead gotten me a Star Wars birthday card -- printed in Japanese, but what did I care? On the minus side, they'd gotten me a Hot Topic gift card. Apparently she'd either missed the memo that our family was no longer stateside, or she wasn't aware that Hot Topic didn't exist in England. Ah well, there was always online shopping...

The rest of the envelopes were from my family back at home -- one from Dad and Matilda and one each from each of my psychotic siblings, even baby Kilenya. Nothing from my mom's family. Again. I guess I should have expected that -- ever since she'd died neither Jefferson nor I had heard a word from our grandparents on Mom's side. But at the same time, every birthday and Christmas I secretly hoped for something... and was disappointed when once again that side of my family proved mute. But I pushed that thought aside as I dug into the stack.

Jefferson had sent me a CD of his band's latest album, which according to the label was a compilation of hard-rock covers of some of the more popular tunes from the Star Wars albums. Hillary's envelope contained an I.O.U. for a makeover once I got home (which I promptly handed to the nearest Dalek to disintegrate). Logan had sent a photo of himself playing Knights of the Old Republic and a promise that the game would be all mine when I got home. The twins had collaborated to put together a poster -- a rather smeared poster, as they hadn't waited for the paint to dry before cramming it into the manila envelope -- of as many Star Wars characters and vehicles as they could fit onto one large sheet of paper. Indy had sent a jumbo-size Symphony bar and a pleading note to "please let me play with your toys!" Egyptus had also drawn a picture, this one of me as a witch with my tiny Jango figure on my shoulder, and Kilenya's gift (though I was positive Dad and Matilda had put it together and just slapped her name on it) was a small photo album of my siblings, showing such achievements as a concert Jefferson's band had put on in Hyde Park, Egyptus at ballet practice, the twins with a poor helpless hedgehog they'd caught and posed with, Kilenya taking her first steps, and the like.

I had slid the cards and gifts back into their envelopes and stacked them neatly for transport upstairs when the rustling of wings and gasps of alarm made me look up. Apparently the mail owls weren't done with me yet -- an entire flock of them (did owls come in flocks?) were struggling to lower a box the size of a large TV onto the table without dropping it or setting it in the food. Melody and Jacob hurriedly moved to clear a "landing site" for the birds and their cargo.

"What on Earth is that?" Luther exclaimed, hurriedly scooting his plate out of the way.

Spiderman scrambled up the side of the box and investigated the address label. "Whatever it is, it's from your parents."

"My parents?" I repeated. They'd never given me anything this big for my birthday.

"Well, open it!" Melody exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "Let's see what's inside?"

I pulled the box closer -- it wasn't terribly heavy -- and investigated the tape job. Figured that my dad would use an entire roll of packing tape on the thing. I looked around for a knife or something else sharp to cut the tape, but I was at a loss for a cutting utensil until my Grievous figure surrendered a tiny lightsaber for the task. I turned back to the box... only to find it gone.

"Hey!" I protested, looking around angrily. "Whoever swiped it, give it back!"

"If you can fetch it, it's yours, Mudblood," taunted Luther, waggling his wand between his thumb and forefinger. I glanced up and saw the box hovering ten feet in the air, wobbling back and forth a bit as if swaying in the wind.

"Why you little freak!" I shouted, lunging across the table at him, not caring that I was scattering trays and bowls and owls and action figures with merry abandon. Luther either wouldn't or couldn't get away in time, but he did flick his wand to the side, sending the box flying across the Great Hall just as I tackled him. We were about evenly matched physically, but I had the advantage of having grown up with siblings and so knew every dirty fighting trick known to kid-kind, so it didn't take too long for me to gain the upper hand.

I would have probably pounded the little snot clear into the next trilogy, too, if it hadn't been for a certain greasy teacher intervening on Luther's behalf at that moment.

"Detention, Miss Wall! Detentions every evening this week for fighting!" I'd never heard Snape so mad, and frankly, I didn't give a bantha's shaggy butt at the moment.

"Geroff!" howled Luther, arching his head back as far as he could to keep me from yanking his scalp off.

"Professor Snape, he started it..." began Melody.

"I saw everything, Miss Fenris," Snape replied icily. "And I suggest you stay out of this. Release him, Miss Wall."

I reluctantly let go of the handful of hair in my grip and got up from my kneeling position on Luther's spine, making every movement as deliberately slow as I dared. Luther scrambled to his feet, groaning dramatically and holding his head in both hands.

"To the hospital wing, Mr. Macnair," advised Snape, though personally I didn't see a mark on the brat. "Montague, Pucey, bring me the box that seems to be so valuable to Miss Wall."

Great, just great. Not only was I stuck in detention for the week, I'd probably just lost my birthday present, whatever it was. Happy freakin' birthday, Emily...

The box plopped down at Snape's feet, one corner bashed in from its flight across the room. Snape drew his wand and muttered a quiet charm that split the tape neatly apart, then flicked the box open with a second flick of the wand.

My heart did a cartwheel.

"OHMYGOD!" howled Felicity, who'd been craning her neck to get a peek and now leaped almost three feet back as if the box had contained a live cobra or something.

Snape himself shrank back from the box, pulling his robes away like a Victorian woman lifting her skirts away from a nasty puddle or small rodent.

"What, may I ask, is all the fuss about?" inquired Dumbledore, strolling over at that moment.

Jacob pointed. "Emily's birthday present, sir."

"It's a Dark Artifact!" Luther announced with equal parts glee and terror. "Only Muggles would be stupid enough to send a Hogwarts student a Dark Artifact!"

"Shut up, it's not a Dark Artifact," grumbled Jango, kicking his jetpack into gear and hovering over the box to get a good look at its contents. "It's just a Darth Vader costume."

Not _just _a Darth Vader costume -- at least, not to my eyes. But I kept my observations to myself as I knelt down to dig around the box. This wasn't just some cheapo Halloween-type deal. This was real leather, thick glossy plastic rather than the flimsy stuff you could melt in a microwave, high-quality cloth that felt almost satiny under my fingers... and paper? Maybe instructions for putting the thing on. I pulled the sheet out and gave it a look:

_Dear Emily,_

_We don't know if this sort of thing is allowed at Hogwarts, but we thought we'd go ahead and send it to you anyhow. If it's against the school rules to have something like this at school, go ahead and send it back. We'll pay for the shipping costs if necessary._

_This costume was commissioned for you from a wizard's clothing store called Gladrags (Mr. Weasley helped us out there, so be sure to write him a thank-you letter). We're sorry it wasn't ready by Halloween, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway. The shopkeeper said something about "special features" in the costume..._

_Happy Birthday, Emily._

_Love,_

_Dad and Matilda_

I made a mental note to write some LONG thank-yous to Dad, Matilda, Mr. Weasley, and Gladrags themselves as I pulled the helmet out of the box and gazed at it in utter awe, almost afraid to touch more of it than necessary for fear of smudging the black shine. It was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. I didn't care if it didn't fit for some reason or if I would have to ship it back home -- I loved it. If nothing else, I'd buy a mannequin and dress it up just so I could display the costume in my room or dorm... heck, maybe I'd see if Vitalidip worked on it and see how Hogwarts liked having a full-size Vader running around...

"The costume will be confiscated, of course," Snape cut in slickly. "Not the sort of thing permitted in the corridors..."

"I recall no rules against costumes being worn, so long as they're no disruption to lessons," Dumbledore replied in an amused tone. "I see no reason why Miss Wall cannot be permitted to keep her birthday present for the remainder of the year."

"It's hideous," Felicity moaned, shivering as if the very presence of Vader's mask had infected her with some incurable disease.

"He's awesome!" gushed Jacob. "Can I try it on?"

"Hey, I'm the birthday girl," I replied. "I should get to try it on first." And I popped the helmet back in the box and lifted it to haul back to my dorm.

Snape's pale hand on my shoulder stopped me for just a moment. "Be warned, Wall -- if I see you in that suit during school hours, you will suffer punishment. And don't try to be cute by showing up for detention in it either."

"Yes, sir," I replied, and scurried off. Not out of fear of the guy who could have passed as the "before" picture for a shampoo ad, but out of eagerness to try my new duds on.

My goal was the Slytherin dorms to try the costume on and stash it someplace safe, but my plans were interrupted when I ran into Professor Draconis in the halls. Literally. Knocked both of us on our rears and sent the stack of books he was carrying flying in all directions. The box containing the costume landed with a thunk a few feet away, the helmet and one glove falling out and skidding a few feet.

"Have a nice trip, Em?" asked Ethan, sounding quite chipper for a guy who'd just been bulldozed by a student.

"Not bad," I replied, hauling myself to my feet and going to retrieve my costume. "You all right?"

"Never better," he grinned, getting up himself.

"Wish I could say the same," groaned Sydney, sprawled out like a roadkill on the floor from where Ethan had landed on him.

I hurriedly retrieved my box, stuffing the helmet and glove back inside, then went to help Ethan collect his books. This was more of a challenge than one might think -- a few of the books didn't seem to want to be recaptured and scooted away from my hands. One volume, which looked suspiciously like the one that had bitten Jefferson back at Diagon Alley, even snapped at my fingers and snarled like a stubborn dog. I retaliated by picking up a thankfully-inanimate volume (something called _Guards, Guards_) and smacking the book upside the front cover. It yelped and jumped back, looking remarkably offended for a book.

"Now now, Em, all that book really needs is a little TLC," Ethan chided, and he picked up the book. It squirmed and bucked in his hands until he gently ran the pad of one finger up and down its spine, and it shivered and lay still. "They like to be stroked, the _Monster Books of Monsters. _Calms 'em right down."

"I prefer my books to stay put without coercion, thank you," I replied, handing over the last of the tomes.

"Aw, be an adventurous reader sometime," he advised with a smile. "What's in the box?"

"Birthday present," I replied, flipping back the lid flaps to show him. "Darth Vader costume, specially made by Gladrags."

Ethan whistled appreciatively. "Gladrags, you say? They make nice costumes, though not _quite _as high of quality as Bobbins and Stitch back in the States... still, you get your share of bells and whistles for your money..."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you should step into my office and get this put on quick," Ethan replied, grinning like a Hutt at a podrace. "Let's see what special features it has. No worries, I'll write you an excuse note for your first class."

One look in his office made me wish I'd passed on his offer. He must have liked to redecorate often -- neither the eclectic assortment of weaponry nor the bizarre conglomeration of cauldrons and tubes were present any longer. Instead, the room was packed with computers and computer parts, either spread out all over the floor or crowded onto tables and atop his desk. Some were assembled but inactive, dull mud-colored screens staring blankly back at me; others were in pieces, monitors and CPUs pried open and chips and wires scattered every which way. A laptop had been suspended from the ceiling by a thin cord and was surrounded by a turquoise haze, and three desktop computers were submerged in a tank of what first appeared to be water but turned out to be a clear syrupy potion that smelled somewhere between lemons and wet dog. Still other computers were ablaze with colored flames, connected to other computers or weird bits of hardware through jury-rigged wires, coated with sticky concoctions, or had gemstones, herbs, or amulets placed on them in what must have been strategic points. It was as if someone had given a surrealist a heavy dose of LSD, turned him loose in a Best Buy, and let him go nuts.

"Um..." I began.

"It's all part of the grand experiment, Em," he assured me. "The quest to make a computer work on Hogwarts grounds. As you can see, my experiments have met with limited success so far..."

I had another look. Several of the computers did appear to be on -- lights were glowing on the monitors and CPUs, anyhow. And a few monitors even flickered briefly as if trying to come to life, most notably the screens of one of the submerged computers, a unit that had glowing rocks and a large bunch of what I recognized as wolfsbane duct-taped to its sides, and the suspended laptop.

"...but we won't give up, will we?" he declared. "The Wright Brothers didn't give up after the first umpteen crashes, did they? Door locks from the inside, take as long as you need." He ducked out and shut the door.

I had a look around just to be sure there weren't any cameras or such and that Sydney hadn't been shut in here with me, then set about changing into the costume. I'd expected it to be a complicated affair, but surprisingly it wasn't. There weren't any straps or buckles to bother with -- just a zipper up the front that, to my surprise, was completely invisible once it was zipped up (probably one of those magical "special features" mentioned in the letter). Armor pieces simply stuck on as if Velcroed, and the helmet snapped into place a lot more securely than any of the store-bought ones did.

Finally the last piece was in place, and I spent a moment tugging at the cape and gloves to make sure everything was just so. The people at Gladrags had outdone themselves -- the costume was a little heavy, but not unbearably so, and it was nowhere near as hot and stuffy as I thought it would be. Special charms and spells, I supposed, or secret materials used in the fabric. And best of all, I could still see out of the helmet... and it amplified my breathing to echo the Dark Lord's, to boot. Grinning to myself, I looked down to have a look at myself.

Whoa. I didn't remember the floor being THAT far away.

"You about done in there?" came Ethan's voice.

"Just finished!" I shouted back... and promptly clapped both hands over the mouthpiece of the mask. That wasn't my voice!

"Whoa, girl, your folks wasted no expense on that outfit if the voice-changer's THAT good. Unlock the door, why don't you? Let me have a look."

I walked over and opened the door. Ethan opened his mouth as if to say something... and shut it again. His mouth open and shut a few more times as his brain tried again and again to work in tandem with his lips. Sydney wasn't nearly so hesitant about his reaction -- he took one look at me and fled hissing.

"Geez, is it that ugly?" I asked. My voice came out of the mask sounding way wrong -- deep and electronic, as if I'd been talking through the blades of a fan.

"You... put on a growth spurt," Ethan finally squeaked out. Then he seemed to regain his composure, and he burst into laughter and slapped his knee. "Fafnir, Tiamut, and Oroborous, girl, that's a real piece of work there! Lucky girl, lucky girl..."

"Who's Fafnir, Tiamut and Oro-whatever?" I asked. The question only sounded even dorkier in Vader's voice.

"Legendary dragons, but never mind that," he replied, and I just assumed it was Dragonkin swearing I'd just heard. "This is classy, girl, real classy." He walked around me as if trying to get a view of me from every possible angle. "A Vader costume that actually makes the wearer LOOK like Darth Vader... very nice."

"Thanks, Ethan, but could you let me change again?" I asked. "I don't think it'll go over well if I wear this to class..."

"Why wouldn't it?" asked Ethan. "No harm in spicing things up a bit, is there? I'll even write you a teacher's excuse -- we'll say it's part of an experiment I'm having you run or something. In fact, I want you to record everyone's reactions to the costume, okay? We'll call it a study in wizards' reactions to Muggle icons of pop culture."

I shrugged, which by the way feels really weird when you've got plates of armor on your shoulders. "Okay... we can give it a shot..."

"Excellent! Now scoot to class, see you this afternoon, okay?"

I picked up my school bag and went on my way. Almost right off the bat two Hufflepuffs rounded the corner, spotted me, and ran off screaming. A wide grin threatened to crack my jaw beneath the mask. Oh yeah, this was going to be the best birthday ever...

_Break..._

Reactions by fellow students to the sudden appearance of a life-sized Darth Vader in the halls and classrooms of Hogwarts generally fell into one of two categories. In one category were those students who panicked -- screaming, fleeing in mindless terror, staring in stupefied horror, and the occasional kid fainting from the shock. In the other category were those students who reacted positively, ranging from high-fives to requests for autographs to simply squeeing in delight (which is easy to confuse with fearful shrieks, so I had to listen carefully). Strangely enough, while the majority of students freaked out upon seeing me, about a quarter of the student body fell into the latter category, which was a lot more than I had been expecting. So not all wizards were ignorant of Muggle culture...

The reactions of my four teachers that day were.. mixed, to say the least.

Upon entering Charms class, Professor Flitwick took one look at me and toppled completely off the stack of books that served as a pedestal to allow him to see his class over his desk. Dumbledore, who responded to the distress cry first, asked me with an amused smile to "please vacate the room while we revive your teacher," and for the rest of the class period I sat in the back to keep from spooking the Charms Professor too much. Even so, Flitwick kept glancing my way with a nervous shudder as if expecting me to leap out of my seat and rip his head off at any given moment. At least I knew how to mess with him if I ever had the urge to -- though Flitwick was one of the nicer teachers, so that wouldn't be anytime soon.

McGonagall didn't even flinch as I strode into the Transfiguration classroom, gasps and squeaks of awe and fright following me.

"Please sit down, Miss Wall, in your regular assigned seat. That will be ten points from Slytherin. And students, kindly refrain from gawking and turn your textbooks to page 193..."

"The Mudblood's gone bleeding mad," I heard someone mutter. I swung my head in their general direction, hissing a sinister breath as I did so, and they shut up with a squeak.

"Figures they'd sit ME behind her," Charity grumbled, but I ignored her. If I was blocking her view of the board, she could always ask McGonagall to move her.

I was starting to think that Professor Binns was a prerecorded holographic projection rather than a ghost -- he didn't even seem to see me as he popped out of the blackboard and started droning out his lesson. I spent the day as I usually did, jotting down dates that might come in handy and doodling in the margins, while the rest of the class stared fixedly at me as if I might do a trick. Sorry, kids, Darth Vader's not a trained dog.

By the time I strode into Defense Against the Dark Arts, it seemed the entire school had seen or heard about me, and a whole trail of students followed me into the classroom to keep gawking at me. Several students applauded when I made my dramatic entrance, and Ethan laughed and gestured for me to take my seat.

"You kids go back to your classes," he ordered my stalkers. "Lord Vader, welcome to Hogwarts! Please, do have a seat! Anywhere you like, you're our guest of honor today!"

"Stupid teacher's pet," grumbled Felicity, glaring at me.

"Hey kid, I'M the teacher's pet," snapped Sydney, looking up from examining his claws to glower at her.

"Enough, you two," Ethan ordered, flicking a tiny fireball at Sydney's feet and making the cat jump and glare. "Get your wands out, kids, we'll be working on Disarming Spells today and I want to make sure your wands are in good condition..."

I sat down in my customary seat toward the back. Jacob and Melody scooted their desks toward me with wide grins, while the Ravenclaw who sat behind me shifted a few seats away as if I were contaminated or something. As Ethan moved from desk to desk, carefully flexing students' wands and sighting down them like gun barrels to see how straight they were, I let the two of them poke and prod a bit at my costume.

"It's so wicked!" Melody exclaimed with delight. "Does it feel odd, being so much taller than normal?"

"It's kind of awkward," I replied. "Doorways are a problem. I have scuff marks on the top of the helmet that'll need polishing off."

"There's charms for that," Jacob assured me. "What do the buttons on your chest do?"

"I... haven't a clue," I confessed.

"Can I find out?" he asked.

"Go ahead," I offered.

He grinned and punched one... and the stirring strains of John Williams' "Imperial March" filled the room. A few students jumped in their seats, and Ethan looked up from shooting a few sparks out of Charity's wand to give us a mock-stern look.

"Let's leave experimenting with the Vader suit for after class, all right?" he advised. "Em, your wand?"

I handed it over. He held it by either end and silently appraised it, flexing it just slightly to test the give. "You happen to remember what the core is?"

"Dragon heartstring," I replied.

"Dragon heartstring?" He sniffed the wand from one end to the other, eliciting a few "ewws" from the class. "I wonder... Uncle Hank, is that you? You talked about donating your body to science, but isn't this extreme?"

My stunned expression must have shown even through the mask, because he looked up at me and chuckled. "Just kidding, just kidding, Uncle Hank's alive and well..." He handed me the wand. "Just needs a polish. Melody, yours?"

She offered it. "It's elm and phoenix feather, sir."

"You sure about that?" He took a long sniff. "Smells more like goose feather." His expression was dead serious, but his eyes gleamed with mischief. Melody giggled.

"Nah, it's phoenix." He handed the wand back. "Jacob?"

"Maple and unicorn hair," he replied.

Ethan took the wand and examined every inch of it. I expected him to smell it too, but instead he handed it straight back. "Don't like to sniff the unicorn ones. Got allergies. Next!" He moved on to the next row.

Melody about fell over laughing. "He's wonderful! I hope he stays on another year!"

"He won't," Jacob said matter-of-factly. "No Dark Arts teacher's lasted longer than a year here. My cousin's a fourth year, and she's been through three professors already. Something'll happen and Professor Draconis'll get sacked or killed or something by the end of the year..."

"You're a real optimist, you know that?" I told him.

"I'm just telling it like it is!" Jacob protested. "Ask Clay, she'll tell you. Last year Professor Triskaideka fell down a flight of stairs and was hurt badly -- some say he's still in St. Mungo's, others say he's in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. The year before was Professor DeLaCroix, Dumbledore fired her personally. Turned out she was getting cozy with a Slytherin prefect -- he was expelled, of course..."

"Geez, what a track record," was my reply. "They said something at the beginning of the year about the job being jinxed -- think it's true?"

"Must be," Jacob replied. "Jinxes are a lot more common than you think, mate."

"Then can someone remove the jinx that seems to be on whoever's the wingmate or co-pilot of a Skywalker?" complained the Wedge Antilles figure that was currently rooming in my schoolbag.

While Jacob and Wedge entered a debate on whether it was possible to jinx a fictional character, I looked up and to my right to see Artemis looking at me strangely. I'd been getting fearful (if not downright petrified) expressions all day, but this one... this one was different. She wasn't scared of my outfit. She was scared of _me._

Professor Draconis was busy with Luther at the moment -- he'd made a comment about chicken feathers as cores for wands that had set the brat off on a shouting spree and was steadily docking house points while the kid ranted -- so I slipped out of my seat and skipped a few rows to go sit down by Artemis. She shrank down in her seat, her body sliding slowly under her desk.

"Hey, Artie, I'm not going to hurt you," I told her, trying my hardest to sound calm -- which isn't easy when you sound like James Earl Jones. "I just want to talk to you."

"About what?" she demanded, still staring nervously at me.

"For one thing, why do you hate me?"

She blinked, startled. "I don't hate you. I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you. I'm pretty peeved that you're blowing me off just because I'm a Slytherin, though."

"If you don't hate me, why did you wreck my things?" she demanded. "I have to pay for all those course books you ruined, and those plush animals were special to me..."

"I didn't ruin your stuff," I protested. "I've never even been in Ravenclaw Tower. Besides, someone else said they saw who wrecked your dorm that night."

Her eyes widened. "Who was it?"

I decided to be blunt. "Don't play dumb, girl. Why do you hate me? Because you obviously do if you're willing to trash your crap to get me in trouble."

She looked as if I'd just spit in her face. "What? I didn't do it! Why would I destroy my own things?"

"You tell me. There was a witness, I talked to them personally..."

"They were lying! I never did that!"

Jango picked that moment to land on my shoulder and chime in. "Then what were you doing that night?"

"I..." Her voice trailed off, and her face twisted into a desperate expression. "I don't remember. I must have been studying or something... I don't remember what I was doing... but I didn't do it, I swear!"

"Enough." A clawed hand landed on my shoulder. "Good job, Em, but don't hound her anymore. She's innocent."

I wanted to protest, but Ethan shot me a stern look. Reluctantly I left Artemis and returned to my own desk, where Syndey was busily grooming himself and Jacob and Wedge were still immersed in their debate.

"Well, that went well," he remarked.

"Not," I complained, flopping down in my seat. "She denied everything..."

"She doesn't remember anything, you mean." Sydney finished licking his hind foot and curled up on my desk, purring slightly to request scritches. "So we've got a girl who destroyed her own possessions and has no memory of doing so. You know what that means, don't you?"

"That she's a liar?" I asked, complying with his request and rubbing his shoulders with my gloved fingertips.

He humphed in mid-purr. "I forget, you guys aren't familiar with advanced curses yet. Means someone Imperius-Cursed her, then Obliterated her memory. In other words, she did it under the influence of a curse and had her memory wiped afterward."

I stopped scratching. "You mean..."

"I mean, girl. Artemis don't hate you or the geeks. Someone else does -- someone who either has a lot more training than you or has flunkies that do."

I summed up my feelings on the subject in one word. "Sithspawn."


	17. Have Yourself a Geeky Little Christmas

**Chapter 17 -- Have Yourself a Geeky Little Christmas**

It snowed two feet the day after my birthday -- a plus in my book, because it meant Herbology and Astronomy classes were cancelled for the time being. Don't get me wrong, goofing around with wizarding plants was a blast -- sometimes literally, since there were a few plants that didn't take kindly to being poked and prodded by curious students and were prone to biting back or just plain exploding. And being a sci-fi fanatic, I enjoyed learning more about the stars and planets, even if I dismissed most of the poodoo they tried to feed me about the alignment of planets and how Mars influenced wizarding wars and crap like that. Call me ungifted or unbelieving, but I didn't put a lot of stock in divination or astrology. But this business of studying to be a witch was a lot rougher than it looked, and seeing as "snow days" weren't likely to happen thanks to school and the dorms being in the same building, I'd take any vacation time I could get.

Actually, snow was a novelty to me, since I'd pretty much spent all my life in California and hadn't been in England long enough to experience a true winter until now. Sure, there was the one time back in the States when Dad took us all to a ski resort and promptly announced he'd never do that again -- I think Logan breaking his leg after stupidly trying the Expert slope and Dad getting the tar beat out of him after the twins stole some jerk's snowboard had something to do with that -- but two days of playing in the snow wasn't a whole lot of experience with the stuff.

So the first day that Professor Sprout told us not to bother slogging through the white stuff to get to the greenhouses, class was cancelled, I went up to my dorm room, bundled up tightly, rallied a bunch of my figures, and trooped them down to the grounds to reenact the Battle of Hoth. That went... interestingly, and nothing like _Empire Strikes Back. _The snow was so deep that I ended up having to shovel and pack a wide patch down to about two inches deep so figures didn't get buried. A bunch of my stormtroopers and snowtroopers ended up getting lost anyhow -- dang hard to keep track of them in all that white. And in the middle of the reenactment Jon's Homestar Runner figures happened upon the scene and decided to get involved. Someone could have freakin' told me Strong Bad carried a bazooka...

"I don't know why you're so miffed," Jango sniffed as I scraped together the still-smoking chunks of one of my AT-ATs and attempted a _Repairo _on it. "That was the most fun I've had in a long time."

"You weren't even there for the Battle of Hoth," I reminded him, picking up the AT-AT and examining my handiwork. Dang it, I'd reattached a leg backwards. I'd worry about how to fix it later, I guessed. "Let's go in, I'm soaked and freezing."

"Once this snow melts, I say we find a sandy patch and reenact Jabba's sail barge exploding," grinned my Luke Skywalker figure.

"I say not," Boba Fett grumbled.

Once inside the castle, the action figures scurried off in various directions, some muttering excuses such as a rugby game with the elves and hobbits or a paint bomb being set up in Snape's office. I let them scatter and hurried down to the dungeons, shivering as the damp chill of the place penetrated my already cold and soggy clothes. I needed to change out of my wet gear and take a warm bath before heading to dinner. Supposedly Dumbledore was going to be making an announcement after dinner, and I didn't want to miss it.

I opened the door to the dorm to hear Charity talking softly -- to herself, perhaps? I remained where I was, the emerald-green draperies of someone's bed concealing me from view. Charity remained a suspect on our list, so if I could gather some kind of intel...

"...blade made out of energy? Are you sure magic isn't involved?"

Twitterings and beepings answered her question. I scowled. Artoo, you traitor.

"Whatever that means." A swish of paper through the air as a book page was turned. "The Force? It sounds sort of like magic, but not as useful. You can't even conjure anything with it."

More beeping.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you." Another page turned. "Eew! He's hideous! That must be a dementor with its hood back... no, it's a person... Emperor Pal... pa... tine?"

"Pal-pa-TEEN," I corrected, stepping out of my hiding spot to see Charity sitting on my bed, Artoo perched beside her and my Star Wars Visual Dictionary spread open on her lap.

There was a brief moment of silence as we regarded each other. Then Charity slammed the book shut, swept a wailing Artoo to the floor with a jerk of her arm, and shot to her feet as if she'd just sat on something sharp.

"Ask before you poke around with my stuff," I ordered.

"I thought it was one of my textbooks!" she said with a hysterical ring to her voice. "I'd just opened it and seen it was Muggle trash when you walked in..."

"Poodoo, Charity, I overheard you." I righted Artoo with a nudge of my toe. "Besides, it's not a textbook. I figured the freaking SITH LORD on the cover might be a clue..."

"Whatever." She held the book up by a corner as if it were contaminated and tossed it onto my bed. "You're soaked."

"Brilliant observation," I noted. "Oh, and if you're interested in learning about Muggles, it's perfectly okay to admit it. I'll answer any questions you have..."

"What makes you think I want to learn about Muggles?" she huffed, and flounced past me and out the door.

"Geez, what's her problem?" I muttered, shucking off my damp coat. "Jango, Artoo, don't look."

"I'd keep an eye on her if I were you," advised Jango, landing on a trunk and turning his back as I changed out of my sodden clothes. "If she's gathering information on Muggles, she could be using it to plot something. For all we know, she could have Imperius-cursed Artemis into destroying her belongings."

"Imperius Curse needs power behind it," I reminded him. "More power than a first year can muster up. Ethan told me so." I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and my Vader shirt with WHO'S YOUR DADDY? written across it. "Still, she could be gathering intel for someone else. You can look now."

"You want me to track her?" asked Jango, turning to face me.

"Nah, you're overworked enough as it is, keeping the others in line." I turned to Artoo. "I'd ask this one, but he seems to be on her side."

Artoo made a blurping noise that sounded remarkably like Indy blowing a raspberry at me.

"Where's my Threepio figure?" I asked, bending down and scooping Artoo up.

"In the Great Hall," Jango informed me, perching on my shoulder. "Something about a poker match."

"Thanks." I stuffed Artoo in my pocket and headed down to dinner.

The Slytherin table glowered at me as I walked straight past them and plopped down at the end of the Gryffindor table, seating myself between Jacob and Melody and sitting across from Chisulo and the Weasley twins. A couple serving trays had been shoved to the sides to accommodate a handful of action figures who were deeply engrossed in a hand of Texas Hold 'Em -- a random stormtrooper, Chewbacca, Jack Sparrow, Sora, Indiana Jones, Spiderman, and Waspinator. Someone, probably Ethan, had thoughtfully provided a miniature deck of cards for the figures, but the cards were still the size of restaurant menus to the figures, so needless to say the game was a touch awkward for them.

"Hey Threepio, I need your services," I announced without preamble.

Threepio, who had been standing behind Chewbacca to translate his remarks for the other players, excused himself and turned to face me. "Good evening, Mistress Wall. How may I be of service?"

"I need to question your evil twin here," I replied, pulling Artoo out of my pocket. "I need you to translate."

"My evil twin?" demanded Threepio, sounding a bit affronted. "Do I resemble an astromech unit to you?"

"Just translate for the Shop Vac," I snapped, keeping a firm grip on Artoo. This was an Episode II Artoo figure, which meant he was equipped with rocket boosters. I wasn't about to risk the little creep flying off in the middle of an interrogation.

"What did he do?" asked Melody.

"Fraternized with the enemy," I replied. "Charity Nigellus."

Chisulo gagged, choking on his trout in his surprise, and Fred enthusiastically grabbed him from behind to administer the Heimlich maneuver while George shouted encouragement and advice.

"Is he mental?" demanded Jacob. "Charity hates us!"

Artoo squealed in outrage and beeped a rapid-fire reply.

"Oh dear," Threepio noted. "He says -- and I do give an edited version of the translation here -- that Charity was merely curious as to why Emily is so fascinated with our universe. She wants to know what sort of power it holds over Muggles, as she's never encountered anything of the sort before."

"She hasn't hung around with geeks much, I take it," Fred said, letting go of Chisulo and patting his back as he gasped and coughed. "Really, it's a shame the wizarding world doesn't have tales like this to hold our fascination."

"We've already got magic, silly," George reminded his twin. "A load of this stuff that pops up in fantasy and science fiction is already possible for us with spells."

"That might be part of the problem," Chisulo pointed out, finally catching his breath again and sitting back down to finish his dinner. "When you have the power to do almost anything you wish with magic, it doesn't leave much to the imagination anymore. Muggles are very limited in what they can do compared to wizards, but that leaves them more free to imagine, explore, and create. Magic makes life easier for us wizards, but it comes at a cost."

I hadn't thought of it that way before. "That sounds like an Obi-wan Kenobi speech. Very wise."

"You're not the only one with Star Wars figures," Chisulo told me, pointing upward to where a couple of Star Wars style starfighters were circling idly -- and I knew they weren't mine, as I didn't have a Jedi Starfighter yet. "The Star Wars line of Transformers was kind of corny, but they're still pretty cool."

"Oh yeah, I have a few of those," I noted. "Vader, Boba Fett, and Grievous. Left them at home, though."

"Back to the subject at hand," Jacob prodded. "What are we going to do about Charity?"

I considered, then turned my attention back to Artoo. "You still on our side?"

He beeped affirmatively.

"Can we count on you to keep a photoreceptor on Charity for us?" I asked. "Play double agent for the time being? Give her a little info on Muggles and geeks, but keep us updated on what she's doing?"

He chirped happily.

"He would be delighted to do so, Mistress Wall," Threepio translated.

"Thank you." I set Artoo back down on the table. "Sorry for being rough earlier."

He whistled a reply before turning to go, trundling merrily down the Gryffindor table. A pair of Daleks blocked his path, but a quick jab of his zapper attachment shooed them out of his path.

"Think she could be the one?" asked Fred.

"Don't know," I replied. "Wouldn't put it past her, though."

"Charity's family is extremely anti-Muggle," Melody offered. "Her dad's been trying to push legislation to make Muggle-hunting a legal sport again. And her mum actually served time in Azkaban for helping set fire to a Muggle library."

"That's..." I had no words to express my outrage.

It wouldn't have mattered even if I had the words, however, because Dumbledore stood up and clapped his hands for silence at that moment. I couldn't suppress a giggle -- Qui-Gon Jinn was sitting on his shoulder.

"Students, I beg a moment of your attention before I release you for the night. I would like to announce something special that our Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Draconis, has suggested and planned -- a Yule Masquerade Ball!"

There was scattered but enthusiastic applause at this announcement, which I joined in with somewhat reluctantly. On the one hand, a Masquerade Ball sounded like a blast, and I was itching for another chance to wear my Vader costume. On the other hand... what exactly did Ethan have up his sleeve with this?

"We would encourage those of you who wish to attend the masquerade to write home to your families and ask permission, for this will mean you stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. And Ethan informs us that there is to be a theme for this event -- Worlds Beyond and Below. In less vague terms, it is a science-fiction themed masquerade."

Oh, so THAT'S what he had up his sleeve.

"Hogwarts faculty can help you secure a costume... unless you already have one or wish to create one, of course." Here Dumbledore's gaze flickered toward me, and a slight smile quirked his lips. "The masquerade will take place on Christmas Eve night, so please plan accordingly. Thank you, students, and have a good evening." He sat back down.

"This'll be wicked!" gushed Jacob.

"I don't have a costume," lamented Melody.

"No worries, we'll help you out," I assured her.

I looked up at the staff table in time to see Ethan give a rather chilling smile. This did not bode well. A smile like THAT meant some form of madness was brewing in that Dragonkin brain of his...

_Break..._

My parents were less than thrilled to hear that I wanted to bail on the traditional Wall family Christmas in favor of the Yule Masquerade. They just couldn't understand why anyone would choose a festive costume party over screaming kids, nosy relatives, a tackily decorated tree that would get knocked over at least four times over the course of the holidays, choking down fruitcake, and trying to get excited over presents that would get returned to the store two days after Christmas. In the end, they relented and agreed to send my Christmas gifts to me via owl post so I could open them at school Christmas Day. Excellent, most excellent...

Since I already had a costume, I volunteered to help out various students with their own costumes, while other members of the geek club busied themselves with creating decorations, planning refreshments, and organizing a decent music selection. With my fellow geeks and the Muggle-born students it was easy enough to help them out -- most of them already had a good idea of what they wanted. It was those who knew nothing about Muggle culture that were a pain to help out, especially since many of them didn't WANT the help.

"Why Muggle science fiction?" demanded Luther at the breakfast table one morning. "If they have to have a rubbish make-believe theme, why not 'Tales of Beedle the Bard' or something? Why Muggle rubbish?"

"Be a little adventurous, Macnair," Fred advised him, hooking an arm around his neck and giving him a noogie. "Won't hurt you to dress as a Jedi or somesuch for once, will it?"

"What's a Jedi?" demanded Luther.

"Oh, you poor deprived soul," George grinned. "Emily, let us help this chap out, will you? We'll gussy him up nicely for the masquerade."

"Go for it," I told them before turning my attention back to my toast. Hey, one less whiny Slytherin for me to put up with.

When I saw Luther again in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he was wearing his formerly long blond hair cropped short save a goofy-looking ponytail in back and a thin braid dropping down from one temple. The glower he offered me as he sat down was enough to make me giggle... and Jango fall off my shoulder laughing.

"The Padawan haircut's an excellent touch," he decided as he climbed back up my arm and back to his perch, still chuckling.

"Nice 'do, Macnair!" Ethan called out from the front of the class, looking up from his demonstration of a basic martial arts move. "Good to see someone's excited about the dance!"

Luther gave Ethan a poisonous look. "I hate you."

Ethan returned the glare with a look of mock horror. "What did I do? I'm just an innocent teacher, I swear! And don't believe the New England Crossbow Association, both those shootings were ruled accidental..."

"You're torturing us purebloods!" Luther cried. "This is discrimination! You give us purebloods poor marks and dock points from our houses, and you pander to the Mudbloods like they're special or something! And you're making us look like fools with this science fiction masquerade! I'll be telling my father about this, he has contacts in the Ministry..."

"Ol' Macnair?" Ethan replied, his faux-shock giving way to a silly grin. "The bully-boy who likes offing inconvenient beasties in the name of public safety? What'll he do, claim I bit a student and come after me with an axe?"

"_Don't talk about my father that way!"_

I instinctively scooted my chair back. I'd seen Luther disgusted or irritated before, but never this enraged. And Ethan didn't seem to realize he'd gone too far with the kid and was just egging him on further.

"Hey kid, if you want to go crying to Daddy, be my guest. I'll even loan you an owl -- unless your dad decides the owl's a menace to society and has it stuffed on his mantle. It'd look rather nice mounted between the killer Puffskein and the grindylow..."

"SHUT UP!" howled Macnair, and he whipped out his wand and screamed something I didn't catch.

My vision went white at the flash of the spell, and I found myself huddled beneath my desk as shock waves ripped brutally through the air and over my body. Whether my body had dove for cover without my consent or I'd been knocked over by the force of the explosion, who could say? My ears throbbed in pain, and my cheek stung like crazy. When I put my fingers to my face they came back flecked in crimson -- obviously shrapnel from the blast had caught me in the face. I wasn't badly hurt, just scratched, but still... that had been scary.

Jango extricated himself from beneath a chunk of blackboard, cursing and growling. "What the stang was that?"

I scrambled to my feet. The entire classroom was frosted with pale gray-tan dust, including the students who hadn't dove for cover in time. The chandelier in the room swung crazily from side to side, making the shadows in the room wobble and waver sickeningly. Heads popped up from beneath dusty desks, eyes wild with fright and shock. A few kids had been scratched by flying debris, but luckily no one was badly hurt. Luther himself had gone death-white -- and not just from the dust, either. He just stared open-mouthed straight ahead, his wand-arm straight in front of him. It was like he'd just frozen into a statue the minute he'd uttered his spell.

I turned to check on Ethan... and about threw up with the shock. His desk and the wall behind it had been obliterated.

"What did you do?" I demanded.

"I dunno..." Luther squeaked rather lamely.

"You little freak!" I snapped. "You killed Professor Draconis!"

"I... I didn't mean to..." he gasped. "Just wanted to... to knock him down a peg..."

"Hey, look!" shouted Jacob, pointing ahead. "That blast went a ways!"

Despite my anger I looked. A huge round hole had been blasted into the wall behind the splintered remains of Ethan's desk, giving one an excellent view of the next (thankfully vacant) classroom and the ruins there. Past the shattered desks and mangled chairs I could see the further wall of that next classroom -- and it also bore a blasted hole in the wall, albeit smaller.

Grabbing Luther and Jacob by the arms, I dragged the two of them out of the classroom and down the hall. Two doors down I released Luther's hand, flung open the door, and grabbed the kid again so I could drag him and my friend inside.

Professor McGonagall's Advanced Transfiguration class had evidently been in full swing when the disaster had hit, and the roosters and iguanas that the older students had been attempting to turn into breakfast trays were squawking and hissing and scrambling about the room in a panic, with a few kids trying vainly to calm them down. McGonagall herself was staring down at her desk with a stern expression, as if she were merely about to discipline an unruly student.

And sprawled across her desk, glasses askew on his muzzle and trench coat ripped and dusty, was Professor Draconis, looking rather dazed.

"Professor!" shouted Jacob. "You okay?"

Ethan groaned and weakly raised his head. "Someone get the number of that truck that hit me?" he managed before thunking his head back on her desk and passing out.

McGonagall turned back to her class and pointed out two students seemingly at random. "Wood, Melton, will you please carry Professor Draconis to the hospital wing? Applebee, go to Draconis' class and tell them they may be dismissed early from class. You three... have some explaining to do in my office."

Well, what else is there to say? By the time McGonagall let us go Slytherin was down another fifty points and Luther not only had detention for the next two weeks, but he would be barred from attending the Yule Masquerade. Not that I really cared on any of those counts. Still, I got the distinct impression that Luther had gone from being my enemy to being my mortal foe.

_Break..._

"Are you sure I'm going to look okay?"

"Melody, relax, you look gorgeous," I promised her. "Now hold still so I can tie this corset."

"Ouch! Watch it, I can hardly breathe as it is!"

"Muggles and their bizarre torture devices," muttered Felicity as she flounced past. "Honestly, you'll never catch me dead in one of those."

"Too bad, you could use one," I replied, giving the corset strings a final tug before tying them.

"Are you calling me fat?" demanded Felicity.

"Girls, girls, settle down already," Sydney chirped from the windowsill. "Focus on making yourselves beautiful, not on killing each other off."

Oh, believe me Sydney, sometimes that was tempting...

It was Christmas Eve, and the four of us -- myself, Melody, Felicity, and Charity -- were in the first-year girls' dorm, finishing up getting into our costumes. I'd spent most of the day helping various students put last-minute touches on their own outfits, but thankfully someone (I suspected Jango and the figures) had polished my Vader outfit for me and ironed the wrinkles out of the cape. Someone was getting treated to a James Bond marathon later... Melody looked gorgeous, if somewhat uncomfortable, in an old-fashioned dress styled to look like Elizabeth Swan's outfit in _Pirates of the Caribbean. _Charity wore a simple white dress and her hair up in buns, obviously imitating Princess Leia even though her nose and lips more suited Jar Jar Binks than anyone else. And Felicity... was she trying to be intimidating or what? Because someone had done a dang good job on her Maleficent costume.

"You're all gorgeous, girls," Sydney assured us. "You're gonna knock 'em dead out on the dance floor."

"Who's dancing?" I asked. In my limited experience, most dances involving young people involved everyone standing around on the floor staring at each other while the music played.

"So Muggles don't know how to dance?" Charity sneered. "Do you know anything of culture?"

"Lots." Hey, geek-dom's a culture. "Enough to know that having culture doesn't mean I can be a snob."

Felicity dabbed a final time at her green makeup job, then snapped her compact mirror closed and tucked it into her flowing black robes. "We're not being snobs. We're simply taking pride in our heritage. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I take pride in being a pureblood," Melody pointed out. "That doesn't mean I hate others for being half-blood or Muggle-born."

Felicity gave Melody a slightly disdainful look. "You're very lucky to have friends like us, Melody," she pointed out. "The Fenris family is, sad to say, somewhat lacking in prestige. If you just stayed with us instead of mingling with Mudbloods and blood traitors..."

Melody glowered, and despite the moon only being at three-quarters tonight I swear I saw her eyes flash an eerie, lupine gold. "I can pick my friends for myself, Felicity."

Sydney's hackles bristled. "Wow, and I thought I was the catty one here."

Felicity smirked. "You're going to regret that, Melody. Let's go, Charity, I'm dying to see how the others look..." And the Evil Duo walked out side by side, giggling and talking.

I sighed and finished adjusting Melody's dress. "What is it with girls anyhow? At least guys punch each other and get it over with."

"Ah, don't mind them," Sydney assured us, hopping lightly down from the windowsill. "They just didn't get enough spankings as kids, if you ask me. See you girls later, gotta get my own costume on and make sure Ethan hasn't blown himself through a wall again." And he trotted out.

Melody and I double-checked ourselves to make sure every piece of our costumes was in place, then hurried out of the dorm and to the Great Hall to enjoy the festivities. The geek club had gone all out to ready the place for the masquerade -- gone were the house banners, the long tables for meals, and the hovering candles that normally illuminated the room. Instead, animated models of various spaceships and starfighters circled lazily overhead, some engaging in mock dogfights for the heck of it. Images from different fantasy and science-fiction movies plastered the walls -- not static Muggle-type pictures either, but animated images that ran, battled, and acted out scenes from the movies they inhabited. A dozen towering Christmas trees occupied one end of the Hall where the teachers' table normally sat, and tables laden with refreshments drew students and faculty alike to the other end. Even the sky seemed to cooperate with the theme, because the ceiling overhead reflected a clear, cold night with every star picked out in gleaming silver-white and the ghostly band of the Milky Way clearly visible.

"Perfect," I murmured, and entered the room to mingle with those that were currently on the dance floor, waiting for the music to start.

"Emily!" shouted Jacob, jogging to catch up with me. He wore a black jumpsuit and mask that had been decorated to resemble Venom from the Spiderman series -- something that the Spiderman figure, who was hanging upside-down from the ceiling by a rope of his web-stuff, didn't seem to find amusing. "Isn't this wicked? Even some of the Muggle-haters are loving it!"

"Hey Jacob," I greeted. "And if it gets Muggle-haters loving it, more power to it."

"I hear a lot of parents weren't happy about it," Clay said darkly, absently smoothing away wrinkles from her black Organization XIII coat. "My own mum and dad complained to Dumbledore about it. Said that this sudden infatuation with Muggle culture wasn't healthy for Hogwarts."

"I don't see how it can hurt," I protested, glancing up to find Dumbledore. He was standing by the refreshment table, dressed as a Discworld character named Ridcully and sipping a glass of butterbeer as he laughingly chatted with McGonagall and Flitwick, who were dressed as Jocasta Nu and Willow respectively. Just behind McGonagall lurked a grungy-looking black-haired Wookie who scowled threateningly at everyone who came within ten feet of him. I almost thought to be sorry for Snape, but hey, if you go to Professor Draconis for help with your costume, you accept the inevitable consequences -- even if they include Transfiguration. Geez, he needed a shampoo.

Speaking of Professor Draconis, he perched himself precariously on a chair at that moment and clapped his hands for attention. It looked like he'd recovered nicely from being blasted through the wall, but then again, I was getting the impression that his was a tough species. I wasn't all that familiar with Doctor Who, but I guessed that Ethan's Doctor costume was pretty accurate -- well, if one overlooked the fact that the Doctor probably wasn't reptilian...

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "thank you for coming, and for humoring your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in this little jaunt." Here he flashed a winning smile at the Slytherins and Professor Snape, who were all giving him rather withering looks. "Anyhow, I'm not much for speeches, so all I can say is have fun, nice costumes all, and by all that's holy DON'T eat the eclairs! Ahem... that's all." And he hopped down from the chair and gestured to the side of the room where the trees were, cueing up the music.

As the peppy notes of Kook and the Gang's "Celebration" filled the Great Hall for perhaps the first time since the school was constructed, students began milling about some more, some actually daring to go out on the floor and boogie to the music, others talking, comparing outfits, or beelining for the refreshments. I swung by the table and snagged a few cookies -- I still refuse to call them biscuits -- before deciding to wander around and see what I could see. (The warning about the eclairs was a valid one, by the way -- first kid to bite into one sprouted mistletoe from his forehead. Served Montague right...)

At the far end of the refreshment table, Chisulo and a gaggle of Weasleys were discussing each others' costumes over rounds of butterbeer. Chisulo was dressed as a Transformer, predictably, and from the look of it was one of them that turned into an ambulance. I wondered if the costume was transformable, too... Charlie Weasley, wearing the pointed ears and archer's outfit of Legalos the Elf, was hanging back from the crowd, sipping a butterbeer and just smiling amusedly to himself. And the clones... excuse me, twins had dressed up as clonetroopers, identical down to the pattern of the scratches on their chestplates. And they were having the time of their lives harping on Percy -- stuffy, snobbish Percy, who had somehow been either cajoled or forced into the metallic silver armor of Bender from Futurama.

"Come on, Percy, just say the line!" Fred prodded, poking Percy in the shoulder with a finger.

"Not on your life!" protested Percy, slapping at his brother's hand.

"It's just a silly little catch-phrase," George pleaded. "Not like we're asking you to repeat You-Know-Who's name, is it?"

"If it's a silly little catch-phrase, why is it so important that I say it?" demanded Percy annoyedly. "Why don't YOU say it if you're so keen on hearing it?"

"Because it's not the same coming from a clonetrooper," Chisulo pointed out. "You have to say it for the effect."

"All right, fine!" Percy snapped, sighing. "Bite my... I can't say it... ow, don't poke me, George! Fine, bite my shiny metal ass, now leave me alone!"

Fred pumped his fist in triumph. "Whoo hoo! He said it! Charlie, you're our witness, right?"

Charlie just laughed and nodded, wisely choosing to not get more involved in this than he had to.

"Speaking of shiny metal asses, this armor's giving me a wedgie." George dug at the black jumpsuit beneath the armor plate that covered his backside. "Nasty thing... how do you stand it, Em?"

"You get used to it," I replied, though I did feel some sympathy for the kid. When your costume made your underwear creep into places underwear was never meant to go, it was never a pleasant feeling.

"Chisulo, you're wearing armor," Fred pointed out. "You dealing okay with the underwear issue?"

Chisulo just gave me a blank look, and I caught on with a groan and a facepalm.

"What?" he protested. "Like going commando is a crime..."

"Don't want to know anymore," I told him, and left the area.

Past a cuddly couple on the fringes of the dance floor dressed as Luke and Leia (did they realize how creepy that was?), around Felicity as she sulked in a chair in the corner waiting for a guy to ask her to dance, through a cluster of Klingons, mecha, stormtroopers, and fae who were watching in awe as a seventh-year Ravenclaw in a ninja outfit displayed some breakdancing moves, skirting around Professor Sprout as she showed off her Amalthea costume (it would have suited a younger, thinner woman better, but I gave her points for originality)...

And I finally found myself at the back of the room, admiring the Christmas trees. The Hogwarts professors had decorated one in the traditional manner, with the typical glass balls, snowflakes, tinsel, and candles, with a many-pointed star on top. Four of the others belonged to the Hogwarts Houses, so of course each one had been decorated with its house colors. The Gryffindor tree glittered in red and gold, and its branches were alive with prowling golden lions and hovering Snitches. The Hufflepuff tree bore yellow and black colors, as well as badgers and tiny work tools like shovels and hammers as ornaments. The Ravenclaw tree was blue and bronze, decorated with eagles and miniature books, and the Slytherin tree glistened with green, silver, slithering serpents, and portraits of famous Slytherin wizards and witches over the centuries.

The last tree... that was the geek tree. And its branches were weighed down with toy starships, symbols from the various fantasy and sci-fi universes, illustrations copied from comic books, and action figures -- both stationary action figures and living ones that goofed off and lounged to their hearts' content. At the top of the tree glittered something metallic gold and silver that I thought was an angel at first... but upon closer inspection it turned out that someone had kidnapped one of the Starscream action figures, painted him gold and silver, and duct-taped him in place. He now glowered down at me as if wishing he were a full-size Transformer so he could crush me underfoot.

After laughing a little and admiring the trees just a little longer, I turned to go... and heard a weird crunching noise coming from the depths of the Slytherin tree. Curious, I peered into the branches, one hand hovering near my wand just in case. Didn't want some lunatic tree critter to spring out and gnaw on my mask now...

A pair of acid-green eyes glowed back at me.

"Get out of there, Unicron," I ordered.

The eyes blinked at me. Then the figure gave a little snort and kept on munching.

"Just keep your snacking to this tree then, all right? Have at it all you want, but leave the others alone..."

"Wha's goin' on back here?"

I turned around and looked up... and up. Wow, I'd almost forgotten how big Hagrid was. And the costume he'd chosen -- or rather, the costume Chisulo had chosen for him -- only added to his impressiveness.

"Hagridimus Prime?" I asked, trying to be funny.

"Nah, jus' wearin' th' Optimus costume fer th' night," he replied with a shrug. "That one kid's idea... but who you talkin' to? Coulda sworn th' trees were clean o' critters when I brought 'em in..." And he hunched down to peer into the branches with me.

"It's one of those living action figures," I explained. "Unicron. We thought he'd escaped into the Forbidden Forest, but apparently he hitched a ride back into the school in the Christmas trees..."

"Wha's a Unicron?" asked Hagrid, and he reached into the branches and dragged the figure out. Unicron squirmed in his grip, snarling and baring his teeth.

"Chisulo knows more about him than I do," I replied. "All I know is that he eats planets -- though this one's not big enough to do that, so he just eats whatever's close by..."

Hagrid's eyes lit up behind his mask, and without even seeing his mouth I knew he was grinning like a little boy who opened a Christmas present and found the toy he'd wanted all year inside. "Aww, ain't he a cutie?"

I gave Unicron another studious glance. "Cute" was not a word I would use to describe that thing. Especially now that it was gnawing on Hagrid's thumb, trying to chew through his glove and get at the digit beneath.

"Friendly, ain't he?" Hagrid said eagerly, and he scratched Unicron between the horns, seemingly oblivious to the fact that this thing was chewing on him. "Yer friend Chisulo... yeh think he'd mind if I kept th' little guy? I'd take real good care o' 'im."

"That's Chisulo's call," I replied, pointing in the direction of the Transformers nut, the clonetroopers, and the Bender wannabe. "Good luck with him."

"Thanks." Hagrid cradled the Unicron figure -- who by now stopped looking annoyed and settled for looking resigned to his fate -- and strode across the Great Hall to secure ownership of his freaky new pet. To each their own, I guess, though I much preferred dogs to planet-eating robots...

The Slytherin tree rustled again, and I glared into its branches. What else was hiding in there? The Death Star toy? Would Hagrid want that as a pet too? How would he get a collar and leash on a Death Star...

There was a zapping sound, the smell of burning bark and sap... and the tree lurched before keeling toward me.

I barely had time for a "Holy Sith!" before the world went weirdly green... then faded to black.


	18. How Do You Kidnap a Hat?

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: My deepest apologies for this chapter taking so long! This summer turned crazy for me, and I had to sacrifice writing time to handle some other issues. I hope this chapter makes up for it..._

**Chapter 18 -- How Do You Kidnap a Hat?**

"Ooh..." My head was throbbing like I had the London Symphony Orchestra rehearsing inside my skull, and felt swollen as Ki-Adi-Mundi's to boot. Any memory of why this was the case was lost in the fuzz that filled my head as I swam back to the waking world, making rather interesting noises the whole while. Hey, I was in pain and woozy, I had an excuse.

"And she's back in our world!" I heard Ethan exclaim happily.

"Blimey, are you all right?" Jacob demanded.

"Don't... shout..." I groaned, reaching up to gingerly touch a thick swath of gauze on my forehead. "What the frag..."

"The Slytherin Tree took a fall on top of you," Melody told me. "Someone burned away the base. It wasn't an accident."

Great, that made me feel a lot better. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times until the concerned faces of Ethan, Jacob, Melody, and some kind of robotic dog slid into focus.

"Sydney, is that you?"

The robotic dog snorted. "Boss thinks he needs a K-9 to go with his Dr. Who getup. Honestly, who dresses a _cat_ up in a _dog _costume? If he wanted a dog, why didn't he spring for a Schnauzer instead of me?"

"Aw, shut your yap, Sydney, it could have been worse," Ethan advised him. "You could have been dressed as Rose instead."

I finally quit feeling around my head and lowered my hands -- no stitches or bumps or anything, just the bandage. I wondered if they'd used magic on me while I'd been unconscious. That would explain it, unless any surface damage was under the bandage. Lucky Jefferson wasn't here -- he'd make some smart-alek comment about a knock to the head not doing any major brain damage because I didn't have a brain to damage. Remarks like that usually ended up with him receiving the nearest throwable object to the head.

"Was anyone else near the tree when it went down?" I asked. Might as well narrow it down to the most likely suspects...

"Just you, Unicron, and Hagrid," Jacob replied. "And Chisulo says it couldn't have been Unicron because the trunk was burned through, not chewed through. And it couldn't have been Hagrid -- he hasn't a wand to do magic with."

I considered that a moment. "Ethan, is it possible to burn something from a distance? Or to cast a spell but delay its effects?"

"Anything's possible if you got the nerve and the brains, Em," he replied. "Wouldn't have to be a spell, though -- plenty of potions and other doodads that can work on a time-release basis, or do the damage and then mask its effects to look like something else. Who knows?"

"Professor Sprout is looking at the tree to see what might have gone wrong," Jacob offered. "She's brilliant with plants -- she's bound to figure out what happened."

I had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy. But hey, why dash Jacob's hopes? "Can I go now?"

"Nope," Ethan said far too cheerily for comfort. "Madam Pomfrey's threatened to skin me alive and make belts and handbags out of me if I let you out of bed." He pulled a titanium pocketwatch from his coat and squinted at it. "As it is, we're over the time she allotted us, so let's scram before she comes in and chases us out."

"Happy Christmas, Emily," Melody wished me with a sympathetic smile. "Sorry you have to spend Christmas here."

"Eh, could be worse," I replied, trying my best to put a positive spin on things. "I'll survive. Merry Christmas Mel, Jake, Ethan."

"We'll bring your presents up here for you," offered Jacob.

"Thanks," I replied. "What would I do without you guys?"

Ethan saluted jauntily, then nudged Jacob and Melody toward the door. Sydney, who'd been working on prying off parts of his costume with his teeth, trailed sulikly after, half-in and half-out of his outfit so he looked like a badly put-together cyborg cat.

I waited until I couldn't hear their footsteps on the flagstones anymore. Then I raised my head and upper body just enough to look around the hospital wing and make sure I was alone. Every other bed was empty, and there was no sign of Madam Pomfrey. Satisfied, I flopped back into bed and cut loose with every swear word I knew, starting with the generic ones and then moving on to Star Wars-type profanity, even throwing some epithets from other fandoms that I'd collected from fellow geeks. By the time I was done, my throat hurt and my head was pouding again, but I felt strangely better.

"Impressive."

"Thanks, Jango. Where are you? I can't see you."

The bounty hunter rose over the foot of the bed, jetpack aglow. "Just to let you know -- you didn't miss much of the party. It wrapped up pretty quickly after you were hauled out. Though Dumbledore did eat one of those mistletoe eclairs and kept pestering McGonagall for a kiss."

I groaned. "Yay me, the one who brings the party to a screeching halt." I wriggled around a bit, trying to get comfortable. Were all hospital beds this hard and uncomfortable, or was Madam Pomfrey just a sadist?

Jango settled down on one of the bedposts. "Wasn't you. Was whoever sabotagued the tree. Looks like we have another Operation Vandal Hunter."

"Fat lot of good that'll do us. The last Operation was a bust."

"We found out who did it and why."

"But we never found out who Imperius-Cursed Artemis. Cold trail. A bust. Dead end."

"You hailed me?" someone piped up from beneath the next bed over, and a small Transformer figure zipped out.

"Not you," I retorted. "The search for whoever cursed Artemis. That was a dead end."

Dead End huffed and returned to his hiding spot.

"Use your brain, Emily," Jango ordered. "You know, that squishy gray stuff in your skull. Unless that tree knocked your wits loose. Two crimes aimed at doing damage to one or more of the geeks -- don't you think they'd be connected? Find whoever sent that tree toppling on you, you'll probably find whoever cursed Artemis."

"Dude, we don't have any suspects for the tree deal," I reminded him.

"Don't think about suspects. Think about methods. Methods for gathering the facts that we so desperately lack. Clues don't always fall into your lap all gift-wrapped and ready for you -- most of the time you have to hunt for your information sources. So focus your search on a potential source of information on students at Hogwarts."

"What source of information on students at Hogwarts? It's not like this school has a yearbook or computer database where I can look things up."

"Then think of more unconventional sources," he prodded.

I sighed and closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. I just wanted to sleep, sleep and wake up and find out all this had been a horrible nightmare...

Who at this school would know everything about every student anyhow? No one teacher could possibly know everything about every student, not even McGonagall or Draconis. Filch might know about the shadier students, but I doubted he'd give such information out even if bribed or threatened. Dumbledore... he might know, but he still weirded me out slightly and I figured I'd go to him only as a last resort. Hagrid? Nah, he was hardly even inside the school...

A scuffle broke out on the floor at that moment, and I rolled over and peered over the edge of the bed to see a team of Geonosians trying to wrangle Miss Norris. Gandalf the Gray stood nearby, shouting for the little bug-aliens to let her go and leave her be ("It's not a nexu, just an unfortunate housecat!"), but they ignored him. The wizard sighed and raised his staff as if to free Miss Norris by mystical means, but a thrashing paw caught him in the midriff and sent him flying up onto the bedsheets. He landed in a tangle of robes and beard, cursing.

"Give it up, Gandalf, Geonosians don't have the brains the Force granted a gonk droid," Jango laughed.

"I don't need advice from you, bounty hunter," Gandalf said coolly.

"Oh, chill," I ordered, grabbing him by the back of his robes and setting him on his feet. "Just be glad you weren't clawed to death." I looked around for his hat, found it on my pillow, and picked it up between a thumb and forefinger to set it back on Gandalf's head...

Then found myself staring at the hat for the longest time as an idea began to brew. Source of information on every Hogwarts student indeed... why didn't I think of it sooner? Actually getting to said source would be the tricky part, but perhaps... just perhaps...

_Break..._

Christmas in the hospital wing wasn't nearly as unpleasant an experience as I thought it would be. True, I wasn't allowed out of bed, and Madame Pomfrey kept poking me awake through the night to ask me inane questions to make sure the tree hadn't caused a concussion. But Jango and various action figures helped to keep me entertained, and Madame Pomfrey did bring up trays for breakfast and lunch so I didn't miss out on the Christmas goodies. That, coupled with the gifts Fred and George delivered from my dorm for me, made things a lot more bearable.

The one thing that dragged my Christmas down slightly -- I actually found myself missing my lunatic family. As I picked at my eggs and hot cocoa and listened to an egg-nog-inebriated trio of Han Solo, Jack Sparrow, and Jack O'Neil mercilessly butcher "White Christmas," I realized I missed the twins, Indy, and Egyptus waking us up at four in the friggin' morning with hollered orders to "get out of bed, Santa came!" I missed coming downstairs to find half my presents already partially opened due to the younger kids' crazed unwrapping frenzy. I missed screams of "Hey, that's what _I _asked for!" or "You broke it already!" or "Do I HAVE to try on that stupid sweater Grandma gave me?" I missed hearing Dad and Matilda complaining about how Logan practically ignored every gift he received that wasn't a video game, how Egyptus seemed to like the boxes her gifts came in more than her actual gifts, and how pointless it was to buy clothes as a gift for Hillary since she would return them all to the store the next day. I even missed silly little things like Indy pulling the bows off her gifts and sticking them on my head, or Dad playing his annoying but oddly amusing Bob Rivers and Twisted Radio Christmas CDs with their warped parodies of traditional holiday tunes, or Jefferson digging out the cardboard wrapping-paper tubes and attempting to do smash-out "drum solos" with them.

Isn't that crazy? You think you dislike something so much that you'd do anything to get away with it, but it only takes losing it, even for a little bit, to make you realize you were actually kind of fond of it all along. Next year, I vowed, nothing would keep me from going home for Christmas.

I didn't get much from the family -- but then, they'd gone all out for me on my birthday, so I could cut them some slack. A few new action figures that would go directly into the Vitaladip once I was allowed out of bed, some homemade Christmas goodies that helped ease my homesickness a tad, some books, and from Egyptus a hat that Matilda had most likely helped make, though Egyptus proudly declared in the card that came with it that she had chosen the colors and pattern all by herself. The hat itself was a fairly shapeless affair, black with red trim and red and purple tassels in odd places, but what delighted Jango the most was the pockets sewn around the brim -- pockets just the right size for a standard-sized action figure to sit comfortably inside. Well, looks like at least one family member had remembered the action figures this Christmas.

Gifts also arrived from the geek club. Jacob sent me a thick stack of comic books called "Star Wars Tales," which included a note on what stories in each book were excellent and which were rather sub-par. Clay's gift was a Sneakoscope, a device that lit up and spun noisily when someone untrustworthy was in the room. Chisulo, obviously hoping to "convert" me to his fandom, sent me an already-Vitaladipped figure of a white and gold, sword-weilding Transformer, one he called Vector Prime in the note and explained "he's the Guardian of Time, and he turns into a spaceship that looks like Darth Maul's!" Though I had yet to transform the toy, he must have been correct because not two minutes after I opened his package he and Maul were fencing on the bedside table.

It was Melody and Professor Draconis that offered me the most interesting gifts, however. Melody's present was a tiny glass vial, tightly corked, of a shimmering fluid that looked like liquid gold. I carefully pried the cork out, careful not to spill the stuff just in case it was corrosive or something, and took a closer look. It sparkled as it shifted under the light, and it smelled wonderful -- like a mixture of baking brownies, hot pizza, fresh rain, and new paper, but not an unpleasant mix at all. Corking it again, I picked up the note included with it and scanned it:

_"Filix Felicis is a powerful potion that grants the drinker extraordinarily good luck -- the time that luck lasts depends entirely on how much potion you imbibe. It's illegal to use for sporting events, and an overdose can result in extreme giddiness and overconfidence. My father gave me a batch for my birthday, but I figured you could use some as well. The amount I've sent you will give you twelve hours of good luck. Use wisely, and Merry Christmas!"_

I started to hand the vial to Jango to pack up with my other gifts, then decided against it and tucked it in a pocket of my robes. Leaving this where just anyone could get at it would be the equivalent of making Jar Jar Binks a Senator -- in other words, just plain stupid. Better to keep it close by in case I needed it...

Ethan's gift turned out to be a miniature crossbow, much like the one I'd seen in his hip holster. It had a grip and trigger like a regular handgun, and it came with a selection of darts and bolts, a leather holster embossed with the Imperial insignia, and a manual with instructions on cleaning and maintaining the weapon, tips on aiming and firing, and a description of each kind of projectile. And the projectiles themselves -- regular mini-arrows, suction-tipped "joke" arrows, darts with hollow cores that could be filled with a drug or poison, grappling hooks, missiles filled with all sorts of powders that caused annoying side-effects when they contacted a victim -- were pretty impressive, if stuff that would make Filch have a coronary if he ever caught me wearing this in the halls. Ethan would probably get into big trouble if anyone found out he'd given something like this to a student, but Ethan probably thought the risk was part of the fun, knowing him.

I'd just packed the crossbow away with my other gifts when Jacob came in, carrying a tray laden with Christmas-Day dinner. "Madame Pomfrey says you can leave as soon as you've eaten!" he said brightly. "You've got to come to the common room with me after you eat, my uncle sent me the 'Death of Superman' trade paperback, it's wicked! But Jabba wants to see it reenacted with the Rancor as Doomsday, and my Superman doesn't think that's a very good idea..."

"Tell Superman all he needs to defeat the Rancor is a garage door with spikes on the bottom," I quipped, taking the tray. "Thanks. Looks good, I'm starved."

"Dunno what Americans like to eat for Christmas, so I just grabbed what looks good," he admitted, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"You did fine," I assured him, and dug into the bag of treats Dad and Matilda had sent me and handed him a cookie. "Snickerdoodle?"

"Sure," he replied, taking it and giving it a taste. "Hey, pretty good."

"My stepmom does baking sometimes. She's pretty good. Help yourself to whatever's in that box there, I got plenty." I helped myself to a cookie too before digging into the steaming-hot roast goose and potatoes. I'd never had goose before, but it wasn't bad at all.

"Oh, and everyone says thanks for the drawings. They're excellent. And Melody's offered to show you how to animate 'em like wizard paintings if you're interested."

"I'll think about it," I replied. "Oh, and I've figured out how to find our geek-hater."

Jacob paused, staring at me open-mouthed -- though that gape probably wasn't in surprise, but due to the fact that I had interrupted him as he was about to sample some homemade fudge. "How?" he asked.

I paused to spear a forkful of Christmas pudding and chew it. "Remember the beginning of the year? When we were Sorted into our houses?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Think about it. What did they do to Sort us into the proper houses?"

"Put the Sorting Hat on us. What's that got to do with..."

"And just how did the Sorting Hat decide which house was right for us? You know it wasn't a random process -- though personally I think the hat has a really sick sense of humor..."

"It..." And his face lit up like a lightsaber as he caught on. "It looked inside our minds to determine our personalities."

"Exactly," I replied. "That hat probably has the dirt on every student who ever walked into Hogwarts." Probably literally, too -- had that thing even been washed in its existence?

Jacob grinned. "Em, you're a genius! We just need to talk to the hat... oh." And his face fell. "It's in Dumbledore's office. And I think he keeps it pretty well protected."

Well, dang it. Still, there had to be a way to get to the hat. Even the almighty Death Star had that fatal thermal exhaust port. Dumbledore would probably have safeguards of some kind on his office, so sneaking in was out of the question. Could we get Ethan to let us in somehow? Or maybe the action figures could sneak in and steal the hat? Dumbledore did seem fond of them... the question would be if the figures were capable of carrying the hat away unobtrusively...

Madame Pomfrey bustled in at that moment, whisking away the tray just as I had speared the last bite of goose. "Finish up and change out of your pajamas, Miss Wall. Professor Dumbledore would like to speak to you the moment you're ready."

Well, THAT certainly opened up all-new possibilities.

_Break..._

Turns out Dumbledore wanted to speak to several people in his office that night -- me, Hagrid, Ethan, Melody, and for some strange reason the Unicron figure. Me, Hagrid, and Unicron because we were the last ones at the scene when the tree business went down (go ahead, laugh at the lame pun) and Ethan and Melody because they were the first responders. It was nice that Dumbledore cared enough to investigate the tree incident instead of automatically assuming it was an accident, I supposed. But still, I was nervous to the point of being jittery at the thought of talking to him. Partially because what I was about to do could quite possibly get me expelled if I didn't pull this just right...

"First off, Em, you're not in trouble," Ethan assured me, patting my shoulder. "I highly doubt the person who got the brunt of the attack'll be punished. Unless Dumbledore decides for some reason that you faked the attack to get attention."

"You're not helping, Ethan," I complained.

"And second off," he went on, ignoring me, "Dumbledore's a nice guy, really. And he isn't needlessly harsh on the kids. Stop wringing your hands, you look like you're itching to strangle somebody."

"Maybe she is," Melody pointed out, slouching along at my other side. The full moon was on its way, and she always looked a bit haggard and rough around the edges for the two or three days before a change. Sort of like Hillary and Matilda before their "times of the month..."

When we reached the door to Dumbledore's office, Hagrid was already waiting there, holding a squawking, flapping chicken by its ankles in one hand and a leash in the other. The mini-Unicron sat cross-legged on the floor at his feet, wearing a tiny spiked collar around his neck, chewing contentedly on a worn-out boot. Hagrid grinned at us and waved the hand holding the chicken, making the bird cackle and thrash even more and scattering red-brown feathers all over.

"'Sup, Hagrid?" Ethan asked, waving away the flurry of feathers.

"Nothin' much, Professer," Hagrid replied. "Jus' checkin' th' henhouse 'ere when Dumbledore called me up. Right mess this whole deal is..."

"You can say that again," I muttered, looking down at Unicron. The deranged little robot was snapping at the floating feathers like a dog at snowflakes, devouring them with relish. I wondered what Hagrid was feeding his newfound pet. Hopefully not anything that would turn out to be the robot equivalent of steroids or caffiene -- a juiced-up or hyperactive chewing machine loose on Hogwarts grounds would NOT end well...

Ethan strolled up to the leering gargoyle guarding the door and offered a jaunty salute. "Chocolate Frogs!"

The gargoyle leaped to the side. Ethan swung the door open, and our weird little group marched up a circular flight of stairs to emerge in Dumbledore's office. Well, nothing had changed since I'd last been in here, except his bird looked a lot more raggedy than before -- half its feathers were missing and its eyes were milky-gray with a thick film. I silently willed the thing to please not drop dead while we were here, because I seriously doubted that would make a good impression on the Headmaster.

"Ah, welcome back, Miss Wall," greeted Dumbledore, regarding me with a smile from behind his desk. He held his fingers steepled before him and was gazing at me curiously. Qui-Gon Jinn and Ben Kenobi were perched on a stack of books on his desk, and they offered friendly waves.

"Hi, Headmaster," I offered, a little hesitantly. "Um... I'm not in trouble, am I?"

The smack of Ethan's hand meeting his forehead in an exaggerated facepalm sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet office, but thankfully Dumbledore's chuckle made me forget it.

"Not at all, Miss Wall. I simply wanted to inquire as to what exactly happened at the Christmas Masquerade last night. You gave everyone quite a fright -- especially Professor Sprout when your Jango figurine refused to allow her near."

I glared at Jango, who offered me a shrug. "Just trying to protect you," he said in his defense.

"I don't know what the heck happened," I told Dumbledore. "I was just looking at the trees, I found Unicron chewing on one, Hagrid took him away for a pet, and the next thing I knew, I heard a weird sound and the tree fell on me. That's it, I swear."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Did you notice anything peculiar just before the tree fell?"

"A zap and burning wood," I replied.

Dumbledore gazed at me a long time, his stare gentle but penetrating nonetheless. I squirmed, wondering if he could see into the pockets of my robes and knew just what I concealed there. Finally he just nodded gravely.

"Thank you. Melody, you were the first to respond to the accident. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

"The bottom of the tree had been burned through," she replied. "But no one was there."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Thank you. Hagrid, you were the last one at the scene before the tree fell. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

"Jus' this lil' guy," he replied, giving the leash a gentle tug and pulling Unicron away from the overstuffed chair that he was currently shredding. The demon-robot growled but slunk away anyhow, tufts of chair stuffing caught in his teeth and making him look like a demented Hell's Angel.

"Nothing else?"

"Nuthin' else, I swear!" Hagrid protested, waving both arms and making the chicken bawl and Unicron yowl as his leash was jerked taut.

"Thank you." And to my surprise, Dumbledore gazed right at the Unicron figure and crooked his finger. "May I have a word with you, sir?"

Unicron narrowed his bright green eyes suspiciously, then braced his legs and gave a powerful leap, one that brought him clear up to Dumbledore's desk. He sat down cross-legged on a desk calender and gazed up at the Headmaster as expectantly as a student awaiting a new homework assignment.

"When you were in the branches of the Slytherin tree, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

Unicron shook his head.

"Nothing at all?"

He began to shake his head again, then cocked his head in consideration. Then he raised one hand and pointed at it with the other.

"You saw a hand?" Dumbledore inquired, and Unicron nodded. "Was the hand doing anything in particular? Holding something, perhaps?"

Unicron clenched his hand as if he were holding a wand and mimed casting a spell.

"And did this wand appear to be in the act of channeling a spell?"

Unicron nodded, and he lifted his chin and rested a hand on his neck, then opened and shut his mouth as if trying to talk, and finally shook his head.

"A spell that removed your voice?" Dumbledore inquired. "A Silencing Charm, perhaps?"

He nodded again, then raised both hands and waggled the fingers to mimic blazing flames.

"Then a burning spell."

Another nod.

"Thank you. You have been most helpful. We will see about restoring your voice as soon as possible."

Unicron stood, saluted, and hopped down from the desk.

"Kin I jus' nip out now, 'eadmaster?" asked Hagrid. "Somethin's broken inta th' 'enhouse an' I gotta fix it 'fore th' cold sets in fer th' night."

"You're excused, Hagrid."

Hagrid bowed low, then departed, the chicken still flapping angrily and Unicron hovering along behind sucking bits of chair stuffing from between his teeth.

"Ethan..."

"To quote an old TV show -- 'I know nothink!'" Ethan declared, imitating a thick nasal German accent with the quote.

"I want a word with you in private, if you will."

Ethan had opened his mouth to say something, but once Dumbledore had made his statement he went silent, mouth frozen open and eyes glowing in alarm. He gave me a curiously desperate look, as if expecting me to save his tail.

"I don't think that was a request, Ethan," I told him.

"Professor Draconis, Miss Wall," Dumbledore corrected gently. "Always treat teachers with respect."

"Sorry."

"Apology accepted. Professor Draconis, if you will..."

Ethan followed after Dumbledore, looking slightly panicked. They retreated to a door squeezed in between two bookcases and vanished from view. For a minute I wondered what the stang that was about. Did Dumbledore suspect Ethan in all this? He was the one teacher who was on our side, though -- why would he be harassing us?

Once I was sure they were good and gone, I opened my robes and addressed the contents of my pockets. "Okay, guys, you know what to do. And keep it QUIET."

My Star Wars figures scrambled out of my pockets and climbed down my robes like they were rope ladders, scurrying toward the shelf where the Sorting Hat lay flopped on a small pedestal. Impressive thousand-year-old mind-scanning artifact it might be, to me it looked like a pile of dusting rags the housekeeper had forgotten to pick up. Why not retire this thing and make a new Sorting Hat, or find some other means of sorting kids into houses such as a coin toss or Ouiji board? Sue me, I don't see the appeal in keeping something around just because it's old...

Melody opened her robes, letting a smaller crew of action figures out to go raid the shelf. Then she reached into the largest pocket and began pulling something ragged and dusty out. "I hope this works -- Fred and George said they grabbed the oldest scraps they could find out of the laundry..."

I eyed the imitation Sorting Hat with a critical eye. It didn't look quite old enough, but I figured it could pass if no one looked too closely. Besides, we only needed the hat for a few hours -- it wasn't like the fake had to pass inspection at a Sorting Ceremony or something.

"Jar Jar, you got big ears, go listen at the door," I ordered. "Let us know when Dumbledore and Ethan are done talking."

"Yessum, Emmy!" the Gungan said, nodding enthusiastically and loping off to the door.

"How's it going, guys?" I asked the rest of the figures, turning to face the shelf.

"Almost got it!" shouted Wedge Antilles. He, a handful of stormtroopers, Qui-Gon, Vader, Grievous, and Geonosis Arena Padme were wrangling the hat as best they could and trying to climb down the shelf with it. It wasn't that heavy, but it was bulky and unwieldy, and climbing down a vertical surface with the thing couldn't be easy.

"Great," I replied. "Rest of you guys, get the replacement up there."

Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Boba, Jango, Anakin Skywalker, two Imperial Royal Guards, and Vector Prime lifted the fake hat and hurried over as best they could. They set to the task of scaling the bookshelf just as the team of figures carrying the real deal made it to the floor and hurried toward me. I stooped down, collected the hat, and stuffed it in a pocket of my robes.

"That was easy..." Melody noted.

"Theysa done!" Jar Jar announced. "Theysa comin! Yousa guys put da hustle innit now!"

The team hauling the replacement hat swore some rather creative oaths and continued climbing. The rest of the figures swarmed beneath our robes, scrambling back into our pockets. The fake-hat team had barely gotten the hat settled on its pedestal when the door swung open, Dumbledore strolling back into his office with a slight, pleasant smile on his face. Ethan looked a bit annoyed at whatever had transpired, and again my curiosity perked its head...

"Thank you for waiting so patiently," Dumbledore told us with a smile. "And my most sincere apologies for not dismissing you for bed before I left. You may go now."

My gaze involuntarily flicked up to the fake Sorting Hat. No action figures were visible, but there were some weird bulges in the fabric as if it had been stuffed with an assortment of oddly shaped objects. I just crossed my fingers and silently willed the figures to hold as still as possible until we coul "rescue" them from this predicament.

"Thanks, Headmaster," I said, and hurried out of the office. Melody and Ethan were close behind.

"What was that about, Professor?" asked Melody.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said shortly. Then he took a deep breath and said in a more relaxed tone "Some things are best left between teachers, kids."

It would have been best if he hadn't said that, because now my curiosity was utterly piqued. But before I could pry any more we'd reached the hallway where the Room of Requirement stood. After pacing three times, thinking _I need the Geek Club's hideout, _the door appeared and the three of us ducked inside.

Save a scattering of Daleks playing a ball game with a stolen Remembrall and a few action figures napping on tables and chairs, the room was deserted. A long-forgotten Miyazaki DVD was still playing in the fireplace, and a few books had been left on tables and the floor. Involuntarily I bent down and picked up the tomes, slipping them back onto the bookshelf.

"So," Ethan said brightly, "what were you two up to while Dumbledore had me occupied?"

"Nothing," Melody insisted.

"Don't fib, lil' lady," he advised. "You both got that cat-who-ate-the-goldfish look -- no offense, Sydney, wherever you are -- and I know you got something in your pockets."

I sighed and opened my robes, letting the action figures tumble out and go their diverse ways. Out of the biggest pocket I pulled out the wadded-up mass of the Sorting Hat. The hat was wrinkled and more sorry-looking than ever... and cursing up a storm.

"Ooooooh!" Ethan exclaimed gleefully, all traces of annoyance now gone. "The infamous Sorting Hat! Lemmie see!" He plucked it from my hands and examined it. "Could use to be laundered... and you know, Dragonkin don't go to Hogwarts and don't do the whole house business, but I wonder where I'd end up..." And he pulled the hat on over his fin-like ears.

For a moment there was only silence, as if he'd just donned an ordinary cap. The the Sorting Hat gave a violent shudder, opened the rip in its side that served as a mouth, and howled "Dear God, get me off him! Get me off him! No more, please!"

Ethan hurriedly pulled the hat off and handed it back. "Sorry."

The hat shivered again. "Merlin's beard, man, what is WRONG with you?"

Melody giggled behind her hands. "I guess it wasn't made for Dragonkin."

Or Professor Draconis had a more twisted mind than he let on. Ah well, we all had our private idiosyncrasies, didn't we? Now to get this interrogation over with. I shook the hat out to get rid of any lingering dust and put it on.

The hat quit shaking, and it now gave a mental chuckle. _Emily Wall. I wondered when we would meet again._

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, forgetting that no one else was hearing the hat speak.

_Exactly what I said. I figured you'd want to talk again._

"Dang right I want to talk. I have questions for you, and we all want answers. You've seen inside every student's head in this school -- I'm sure you know which students here are most likely to pull stunts like Imperius-cursing other students or pushing trees on their heads. I want a list of the kids most likely to do this, and possible reasons why."

_My, my, demanding, aren't we?_

"You want to be introduced to a friend of mine?" I asked. "His name is Mr. Scissors, and he's a real cut-up. If you don't mind humor with an edge to it, that is..."

_You wouldn't dare..._

"I would dare, now start talking."

The hat laughed again. _And here you wondered why I put you in Slytherin, girl. You have the traits._

"The traits?" I repeated.

_You're cunning, girl. Full of plots and plans to better yourself in the world. And yet you don't needlessly risk yourself either. And you have a thirst to prove yourself in the world._

About now I got the presence of mind to start talking to the hat just using my thoughts -- there were things I didn't want broadcasted, after all. _That all just comes from being part of a too-big too-crazy family, pal..._

_No, that all shows how you survived your too-big lunatic family for so long, Emily. You're a true Slytherin, megirl, a true Slytherin. Just like your mother's family, y'know..._

I felt my jaw land somewhere down by my feet. _What the hell would you know about my mother?_

_Well, you're not related to the Walls of Hogwarts, as your father's side of the family is Muggle. But was your mother not Theresa Othello, later Theresa Wall?_

I just nodded dumbly. Tessa Othello Wall... she hated the Theresa, Dad used to say, and thought Tessa made her sound younger and less stuffy and formal... _But my mom wasn't a witch._

_Yes, the only non-witch in the family, if my appraisal of her sister back in 1979 was any indication. A sad case when that happens, a Squib in the bloodline... but she'd have done well in Slytherin had she come to Hogwarts, I wager, just like her sister and brother and her parents before her... _

It took a few seconds for what the hat was saying to sink in. And I'm sure I looked really intelligent standing there and gaping while Melody and Ethan looked on, concerned expressions on their faces.

Then I tore the hat off, threw it at Melody, and ran out of the room.


	19. Time For Another Valentines Day Massacre

**Chapter 19 -- Time For Another Valentine's Day Massacre**

Different people have different reactions to stress and problems in their lives. Some shut down and withdraw, thinking if they ignore the problem it'll go away. Some escape and try to run away from the problem. Others tackle it head-on, whether or not it's a good idea to do so. And still others don't do anything but choose to gripe and whine about it. Not saying any of these ways is good or bad -- I'm sure they all have their pros and cons. And maybe a healthy way to deal with it is to use some combination of all of them. But I'm not a therapist, so what do I know?

My first reaction when I have a problem? Hit the books. Whether it's a library or just my bookshelf at home, I go there and bury my nose in a tome. Even if there's nothing in any of the books I browse that helps me solve the problem, it at least helps me feel better.

So of course it was the library where Melody and Jacob finally tracked me down.

"Em!" exclaimed Jacob, dropping into the chair across from me. "You scared us, we couldn't find you for the longest time!"

"You'd better get back to the dormitory, lights-out is in fifteen minutes..." Melody advised.

"I'm in the middle of something," I told her, which was the truth.

"Emily, I know this is a shock," Jacob said, trying to sound comforting. "But having a Squib in the family isn't all bad. I mean, sure, it's a bit more of a shame for wizards to admit it, but to Muggles she'd just be another Muggle..."

"You're not helping," I informed him.

"He's trying to cheer you up!" Melody snapped.

"I don't need cheering up," I shot back. "Leave me alone."

"No," Melody said firmly. "We're your friends. Friends don't let friends deal with the rotten stuff alone."

I sighed and shoved the book I was flipping through to the side. "You two are so lucky, you know? You've both have mothers who loved you -- and yeah, Jacob, I know your mother died when you were really young, but at least she cared about you. My mom took off almost right after I was born. She didn't want to be a mother, she didn't want me or my brother. And after she died, my grandma and grandpa on her side wouldn't even speak to our family. And now, I find out that she's got this secret past, that she was supposedly part of this great wizarding family, and that stupid hat acts like I should be all proud of it. Why do I want to be proud of a family that won't have anything to do with me?"

Jacob just stared at me for a moment before speaking. "You've got issues, mate."

"I don't have issues, I have the whole frickin' subscription," I retorted. "But thanks for noticing."

Melody sighed. "Who says your mother didn't love you? Maybe she had to leave for some reason. Or maybe she figured that you'd be a Muggle like your father and that you'd do best raised by other Muggles, and not by a witch or a Squib. I know you can't exactly ask her now... but why accuse her of something when you don't know all the facts?"

I sighed again, but I knew she had a point. It still didn't prevent me from feeling upset about all this. Just one little hint over the years, just a letter or a phone call from the grandparents... something to make me feel better about always being the odd one out, even in my family... that would have made me feel a lot better about suddenly finding I had wizard blood in my veins. As it was, I had no idea how I was going to explain this to Dad -- unless he knew already, in which case he had a LOT of explaining to do next time I saw him...

"Sorry," I finally said a bit lamely, staring down at the table and tracing the wood grain with a fingernail. "I just... wish I knew more about her. I got my stepmom, yeah, but it's not really the same. I mean, she practically raised me... but I just wish I had something more of my mom to remember than a couple of pictures and a nightmare."

"Nightmare?" repeated Jacob.

"The day she died, I had a horrible nightmare," I explained. "I was only two, but it's haunted me ever since."

Melody nodded. "That happens sometimes, and it's actually a common way for magic to show up in kids, from what I hear -- they either feel a relative die or sense that it's going to happen soon."

Jacob nodded enthusiastically. "Dad says I screamed all night the night Mum died. Don't remember it, though..."

I couldn't help it -- I felt a smile tugging at my mouth. Oddly enough, I felt a little better having finally unloaded to my friends, even though part of me was still bothered by this whole mess.

Thankfully, one of Jacob's action figures, Ironman, poked his head out of his robe pocket, spotted the book I'd been skimming when the others had found me, and changed the subject on us. "What's that?"

"Book on wizarding families," I replied. "I was looking up the Othello family. It was printed before World War II, though, so I guess finding out who my grandparents on that side are is out..."

"Nah, it's still possible," Melody replied. "Wizards generally live longer than Muggles."

"How far back does it go?" asked Jango, peering down from the hat Egyptus had given me.

"Way back," I replied. "Turns out the Othellos hauled off to America with the Puritans in the early 1600s. Not bright if you ask me, the Puritans hated witches and wizards and considered them worshipers of Satan."

"Yeah, but witch burning was completely pointless," Melody pointed out. "All a true witch would have to do was cast a cooling charm..."

"Witches weren't burned during the Salem Witch Trials," I pointed out -- thank you, American History. "They were hanged. If your neck didn't break when the noose went tight, you choked to death."

Jacob gulped and grabbed at his throat.

"Any mention of Othellos being killed in the Trials?" asked Jango.

"One -- a married daughter. Her husband was accused of witchcraft too but got off because he confessed."

"Wait, they didn't kill you if you confessed?" asked Melody, stunned.

"No, but if you denied you were a witch, they found you guilty," I replied. "Real backwards way to do it..."

"I'll say," grumbled Jacob. "Blooming mental, they all were."

"Actually, they probably were mental," I pointed out. "I read in a Robin Cook book..."

"Who?" asked Melody.

"Robin Cook. He writes medical thrillers." And Dad would kill me if he ever found out I'd smuggled them out of the library to read, but whatever. "In one of his books he talks about a kind of mold or fungus that attacks grain crops and can cause insanity if you eat it. A lot of people think the Salem Witch Trials might have been caused by the grain crops that year, and people blaming the insanity fits on witchcraft instead of looking for another cause."

Jacob pondered that. "Was the fungus called Lunatus, perhaps?"

"I have no idea, why?"

"Lunatus is a magical fungus that grows on plants," Jacob explained. "And it can do all sorts of nasty things to an animal or person who eats it -- they start seeing things or running around like mad. There's antidote potions, of course, but Muggles wouldn't have that..."

"And besides, the Muggles would call it something else," Melody pointed out. "They call the Diricawl the Hobo Bird, for example."

"That's Dodo Bird," Ironman corrected.

"Whatever," Melody retorted.

"Lunatus," I repeated, considering. "You'd think our Herbology books would say something about it."

"You don't learn about it until third year," Chisulo pointed out, walking up at that moment. "And you don't get to handle it either -- Sprout says it's too dangerous. Snape's the only one qualified to deal with it."

"Maybe you can tell us a little more about it?" I asked.

"It grows from spores that only sprout in the light of a full moon," he replied. "Once you eat a plant with Lunatus on it, you hallucinate, and you lose your sense of self-control and start shouting and running around like crazy. If you don't get an antidote within a few weeks, you fall down and go comatose for a bit, then you wake up without any memory of what drove you bonkers in the first place." He pulled up a chair and sat down. "And since it doesn't show up in a lot of the older herb and fungus books, a lot of wizards guess that it was magically created, though whoever created it isn't fessing up."

So in a strange way, the instigators of the Salem Witch Trials were right and the problem had a magical basis. Just not the one they were thinking of...

Madame Pince showed up at that moment and began shooing us out. "The library is closed for the night. You children need to return to your dormitories immediately." She gave Jango and Ironman distrustful looks. "And take your... pets with you."

Jango snorted, offended. "Pet indeed..."

"Take it as a compliment," Ironman told him cheerfully, looking up from polishing his armor with a handful of Jacob's robe. "Means she thinks you have animal magnetism."

"That was lame," I groaned, packing up the wizard geneology book. "Can I check this out before I go?"

Madame Pince took the book from me and returned to her desk to fill out a card.

"So how did the deal with the hat go?" asked Ironman, directing the question to Jango. "Heard you were all going to try that tonight..."

"The hat!" I KNEW I'd forgotten about something important. "Poodoo, I'm sorry, Mel..."

"It's okay, I talked to it," Melody assured me. "And got a whole list of names, too. Students with shady pasts, or that have a history of dark wizardry in the family. Mostly Slytherins."

What a shocker. "Then I guess we know what we're doing for the next little while -- eliminating suspects." Who'd have thought that in coming to Hogwarts I'd become a geeky Nancy Drew ripoff? Or maybe, in this case, more of a young Jacques Clouseau.

_Break..._

It was a good thing I had my little investigation to keep me occupied -- it snowed so hard over the next few weeks that no one was allowed to leave the castle. One would think that Hogwarts would put some kind of snow-repelling charms around the school to keep the grounds clear, but apparently that wasn't allowed, possible, and/or considered. Students were getting antsy and fidgity from being cooped up inside for days on end, and pranks were a regular occurance. I think the only reason members of the geek club weren't on the butt end of most of these pranks was because the action figures were becoming ridiculously protective of us, to the point that most other students gave us wide berths in the hallways lest they be assaulted by tiny but determined plastic men.

Astronomy, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures classes were all cancelled, so I usually found myself in the Room of Requirement instead, pouring over either the wizard geneology book or the list of "suspects" while other kids played games or watched a DVD or just watched the action figures goof off. I was just about ready to give up on finding my grandparents -- the last recorded birth of an Othello in the book was in 1925, which seemed way too early to me -- but the list was proving to be interesting.

I had the choices narrowed down to four at the moment -- Felicity MacDuff, Charity Nigellus, Luther Macnair, and Artemis Peridot. Felicity and Charity were both fairly obvious choices, seeing as they were my bunkmates and made it no secret that they detested me. Luther had avoided me ever since he'd blown Professor Draconis through the wall, but we couldn't rule him out as a potential suspect. Artemis... could have been lying about not remembering a thing about trashing her own belongings. I couldn't be sure. At any rate, that bore further investigation.

Meanwhile, Professor Draconis was getting loonier than ever. We walked into class one day in early February to find him dressed in military fatigues, carrying an assault rifle slung over one shoulder.

"What's with the GI Joe getup?" I asked.

"Down to the dungeons, kids," he replied, grinning. "Today we'll be learning how to handle Muggle firearms."

Jacob's jaw dropped. "He's mental!"

"You catch on quick," muttered Luther.

"Is this legal?" I asked.

"I got permission from Dumbledore, it's legal enough," Draconis replied, shooing us out of the classroom and to the staircase. "And 'fore you start whining about 'we have wands, why do we need to learn how to use guns,' keep in mind that there are times when your wands aren't gonna be able to help you. Capice?"

I couldn't say I was too surprised at this -- few things about Ethan surprised me anymore. I knew Dad and Matilda would have a coronary if either of them found out about this -- both of them were extremely anti-gun, Matilda so much so that I'd finally had to hide my model stormtrooper blaster under my mattress to keep her from trying to swipe it -- but hey, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt anyone...

This particular chamber of the dungeons were chilly enough that everyone's breath came out in steamy puffs, as if we'd all become Dragonkin. I wasn't sure what a firing range looked like seeing as I'd never been on one before, but this setup couldn't be described as anything but. A row of targets stood against the far wall, some the typical round bulls-eye, others shaped like human or dragon or other-beastie sillhouettes. Other targets had been set up at varying distances, and a few hung in the air, drifting back and forth to simulate moving, airborne enemies. Likewise, a few of the floor targets were shifting and darting about, just to be tricky.

"Everyone put on ear and eye protection," Draconis ordered, pointing to a box of earmuffs that looked to have come from Professor Sprout, seeing as they were all smeared with dirt, and another box of thick goggles, probably stolen from Snape. "Then I want five students at a time up here to shoot. Everyone else -- keep your mouths shut, no horseplay, and stay behind the white line! If Madame Pomfrey has to pull lead out of you, you get no sympathy from me." He eyed us speculatively, then pointed at people seemingly at random. "Wall, Peridot, Woodruff, Macnair, Fenris, you're up first. Line up just behind the white line."

I stepped up and toed the line curiously. Funny -- I couldn't get my foot past the line. It was like there was an invisible wall holding me back. Luther further proved this when he strolled toward the line with no indication of stopping, obviously trying to prove something, and ran smack into whatever barrier had been erected. The entire class giggled as he hit the floor with a yelp of outrage.

"Don't try to cross the line," Draconis repeated, a sly grin on his face. "Didn't I warn you?"

"Why tell us that if you're just going to put up a Repelling Charm?" demanded Felicity.

"'Cause I know kids, and the first thing most of them do with a rule is try to break it," replied Draconis. "Okay you five, listen up, this is important..."

As Draconis launched into the basics of firearm safety, I sneaked a look at the other four students who would be taking the first shots on the range. Melody watched raptly and nodded as Draconis continued his speech, while Jacob was just gawking at the rifle that was being used as part of the demonstration. Luther looked bored and was inspecting his fingernails -- I hoped Ethan had more safeguards in place, because I doubted the kid was absorbing a word of this. Artemis just stared at her feet, casting worried looks in my direction from time to time. Huh. What was that about...

"All right, I think you're ready." And before I could react a pistol was shoved into my hands. "Turn to face the targets -- do NOT point your weapon at anyone, these things are loaded..."

Luther's gun went off, and he shrieked and dropped it, backing away from it as if it were an activated thermal detonator.

"It helps to keep the gun in your hands, Macnair," Ethan suggested, and he picked the pistol up and handed it back. Luther wouldn't touch it, and soon the two were bickering again.

Melody and Jacob, meanwhile, were busy firing away at the targets, more often missing than not but still plugging away. I guessed the guns had been magically loaded, because no matter how many times they fired they didn't need to stop and reload. Artemis, too, was firing, but unlike the others, who had all the aiming skills of Imperial stormtroopers, she was actually hitting her targets -- even some of the quick airborne ones. Wow. She had talent.

"Nice shot," I told her, speaking loud enough for her to hear through the earmuffs.

"Thanks," she replied, not looking at me but focused entirely on the next target. "Dad's a police officer. I've been shooting with him since I was eight."

"Your dad's Muggle?"

She shook her head. "He works undercover. There's a network of wizards that keeps tabs on Muggle business, lets the Ministry of Magic know what's going on with the rest of the world. Just because we like to keep hidden doesn't mean we don't pay attention to the rest of the world."

"Very wise," I replied.

She fired a few more times, then lowered the weapon. "You give it a go."

I raised the pistol, which felt absurdly heavy for its size, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked in my hand, and one of the nearer targets jerked as I nicked a corner of it. Wow, that sucked.

"Here," she advised, and she reached over and adjusted my grip on the weapon. "Keep your elbows bent, keep one hand at the bottom of the grip... don't touch the trigger until you're absolutely certain you're ready to shoot..."

Artemis coached me through my next few shots, and though one practice session wouldn't make me her equal, I was soon at least able to at least hit the target my gun was pointed at.

"Thanks a lot," I told her.

"You're welcome." She smiled a little shyly. "You're not still mad at me, are you?"

"Nope," I replied, and was surprised to find I was speaking the truth. "All's forgiven. You're not still mad at me, are you?"

She shook her head. "I dunno who wrecked my belongings, but Dumbledore's positive it wasn't you and your friends. And I trust the Headmaster. I... I don't think you did it anymore. I wish I knew who it was, though, and why they set you up."

And just like that, any suspicions I might have retained regarding Artemis' role in this whole mess evaporated. "Why don't you come to one of our meetings Sunday night? You'll have fun."

"Are you sure?" she asked unsurely.

"Hey, we may be social rejects, but we don't bite. Often."

She laughed. "I'll be there."

"Awesome."

"Next!" barked Ethan, waving his hand to shoo us away. "Switch your safeties on and set the guns down carefully, then move aside for the next kids. Nigellus, Macduff, Thompson, Bane, Fairchild, you're up!"

I moved aside for the petite Ravenclaw girl who took my spot. Well, there was one suspect we could cross off the list. Too bad ferreting information out of Luther, Felicity, and Charity would probably be a lot harder.

_Break..._

But as it turned out, it only took one monumental event in February to strike someone else's name off the list of suspects -- Valentine's Day.

I never really got into Valentine's Day myself. Sure, getting a cheap tiny Valentine's card with whatever cartoon or movie character was popular at the moment from every kid in class was interesting, especially since some took the time to write fun or goofy things on each card instead of just the standard "To" and "From." And it was always amusing to hear Hillary whine about who she had or hadn't received cards or gifts from, or to watch the younger kids go careening around the house on sugar highs after raiding people's candy stashes. But it wasn't exactly my favorite holiday. Maybe it's because I'm not exactly a pink-and-lace-and-hearts type of girl. Or maybe seeing so many relationships in the Star Wars films and books eventually tank somehow had kind of jaded me against the lovey-dovey stuff. Who knows?

At Hogwarts, it didn't seem that the holiday was treated with much fanfare. Oh, there were whispers and giggles among the girls about crushes and Secret Valentines, and a few kids were seen sneaking flowers and chocolates to other kids. And someone had anonymously left a bouquet of roses in the shape of the Stargate insignia on Clay's bed, and it was hilarious seeing her rage around the school looking for the culprit. But the professors treated it like any other day, and at least we weren't expected to do the "give a valentine to every other kid" thing.

Then dinner rolled around... and chaos struck.

It started innocently enough. I was chatting with Melody and the twins and fishing a Dalek out of my pea soup when Felicity walked toward us, carring a TIE fighter by one wing. She held the wing between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a rat, her arm stretched straight before her and an expression of distaste on her face. I looked up to see her thrust the thing at me and glare. From inside the fighter, the tiny pilot just offered me a shrug and a wave.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

"Your _toy _has been following me all day," she said disgustedly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was spying on me."

"I can't control 'em, girl," I protested. "They've got minds of their own."

"I don't trust you," she snapped. "And after what you did to that poor Ravenclaw, how do I know that you don't intend for me to be your next target?"

"Since when did your lot care about Ravenclaws?" asked Fred, slathering a slice of bread with honey before stuffing it into his mouth.

"Since never is when," George replied, dumping a Heartless out of his cup so he could refill it with pumpkin juice.

"You two aren't part of this discussion," Felicity informed them crisply.

"Let her alone, Felicity," Melody ordered.

"You be quiet," Felicity snapped. "I'm not talking to you anymore..."

At that moment Kenobi landed on the table -- or rather, he hit the table and skidded a good ten feet down it to slide to a halt before us, scattering cups and cutlery the whole way. He finally came to rest face-first in a platter of scalloped potatoes, and he gave an indignant squawk as he hauled himself to his feet and shook himself, scattering a few feathers and dollops of cheese sauce in all directions.

"Smooth landing," I told the owl, reaching for the package he was carrying. "Wondered where you were when you didn't come in with the morning mail..."

"You speak as if you expect that bird to understand you," Felicity said coldly. "It's an animal, a servant. It should be treated as such."

"You treat your bird the way you want, I treat mine the way I want," I replied, examining the package. "Oh sweet, it's from Dad! If it's what I think it is..." I hurriedly ripped it open and dumped out the contents -- a load of styrofoam packing peanuts and a model of Jango Fett's ship, the _Slave, _perfectly in scale for the action figure that was currently sitting in a pocket of my hat.

The action figure that was staring at the ship and making whimpering sounds, as if about ready to burst into happy tears.

"Oh lovely," grumbled Felicity. "Another ship to terrorize the Slytherins. Did somebody plant you in our house to torture us?"

"I didn't ask to be sorted into Slytherin," I replied. "Blame the hat." I would have invited her to talk to the hat personally, but I no longer had it in my possession -- Sydney and Vader had smuggled it back to its shelf weeks ago.

"Why am I even talking to you?" demanded Felicity, and she tossed the TIE fighter aside.

That simple act, little did we know, started a chain of events that we would all remember all too well later, like the first falling stone that starts an avalance. For the TIE fighter sailed through the air, out of control, to land with a splash in a gravy tureen, spattering a collection of Stargate puddle-jumpers that were parked close by. Whoever was piloting those ships took offense and immediately converged on the poor TIE. The students seated at that table scattered as blaster bolts and drops of gravy sprayed everywhere.

That might have ended there... had a Stardestroyer not been cruising overhead and decided to come to the TIE's aid. More students fled in terror as the tablecloth burst into flame, ignited by a miniature proton torpedo. Said torpedo also scared up a squadron of Klingon ships, which immediately dashed into the fray.

"Holy Sith," I breathed.

"Guess it was a mistake to dip the starships?" offered Melody weakly.

Fred and George began whooping in glee.

Things might not have progressed any further than that... had Ethan not walked in at that moment. And not had a practical armada of starships from every science fiction show imaginable trailing after him.

"What's all..." was all he got out before he was bowled over by the charge.

Students dove under the tables, screaming, as what would later be called the Battle of the Great Hall commenced. Miniature starships of all kinds, from TIE Fighters and X-wings to Borg and Gou'ald ships, from the gummi ship of _Kingdom Hearts _to the Serenity from _Firefly, _from Transformer Seekers to _Battlestar Galactica _Stealthstars, exchanged laser fire and dropped bombs and missiles onto the tables, charring the tablecloths and causing explosions of by-now-long-forgotten dinner courses. Many of the action figures joined in the fray as well, firing skyward in an attempt to take down one ship or another. Occasionally a starship would take a bad hit and drop, sometimes clattering to the floor, other times landing with a plop in a serving bowl or plate. And in the middle of the bedlam teachers and prefects dashed madly about, casting stunning and freezing charms aplenty in a vain effort to halt the battle.

"This is so cool!" gushed Hans, crawling under the table with me.

"This is so not good," I replied. "Dumbledore'll have our heads for this..."

Ethan scrambled under the table with us, a gravy-covered Doctor Who clinging to his coat lapel for dear life. "Whoo, what a spectacle, eh?"

"What was that for?" I demanded.

"What was what for?"

"Bringing all the ships into the Great Hall like that?" I retorted. "Were you trying to start a battle?"

"Of course not!" he shot back. "I was merely conducting studies in the properties of flight technology and how it was developed by certain societies..."

A dull thud of an explosion rocked the room, and I chanced a peek. I immediately wished I hadn't -- the Death Star figure, apparently sensing excitement and not wanting to be left out, had shown up from the Forbidden Forest and apparently blown a hole in the wall to enter the Great Hall. Unicron, spotting the space station, immediately snapped his leash and charged with a snarl. He tackled the Death Star and began clawing and biting, and the Death Star rocked and spun in an effort to throw its attacker.

"Okay, now THAT is epic," Demeter said with a grin, ducking under the table to join us.

A sudden blast of icy cold air swept over us, and all sounds of fighting ceased -- only to replaced with a sudden racket of plastic hitting the floor as every starship and action figure dropped like a lead balloon. An X-wing figure came to a rather abrupt landing six inches from my face, one wing snapping off from the impact. Then just as suddenly, all was silent save for the drip of some spilled drink trickling to the floor and the heavy, hysterical breathing of Felicity just to my right.

I didn't have long to wonder what had happened -- Snape took both responsibility and charge right away.

"That should keep them stunned for the time being," he said icily. "Prefects, gather them. They must be disposed of immediately..."

I immediately reached out, snatched the X-wing, and tucked it into my robes.

"But Professor!" shouted Hans, standing up immediately to protest. The poor kid had chunks of stew in his hair, but otherwise looked unhurt.

"Quiet," ordered Snape in his cold, smooth voice. "They are dangerous and must be destroyed before they can do further damage..."

"Now Snape, be reasonable," Dumbledore said mildly, strolling over to the Potions Master while carrying a battered, dazed-looking Unicron in his arms. "No one was injured..."

"Only by sheer dumb luck," McGonagall put in. "I must agree with Professor Snape, for once." She looked as if it pained her to admit that. "Next time this happens, we might not be so lucky..."

As important as that conversation seemed to be, my attention was diverted by another kerfluffle in the corner. Agatha and Horatio, the Slytherin prefects, were trying to get past a Slytherin first year who was standing guard over a cluster of frightened action figures. For a moment I could only stare. Why was Charity defending the figures?

"Don't hurt them!" she demanded, bending down and scooping up Artoo and a cluster of stormtroopers. "They didn't do anything!"

"They're dangerous," Horatio snapped. "They should be eliminated at once!"

"They are not!" she insisted. "They were only trying to protect themselves!"

"You call this just protecting themselves?" demanded Agatha, gesturing wildly around to indicate the destroyed Great Hall.

"You're not taking Artoo!" Charity insisted.

"No one is taking anything anywhere," Dumbledore announced, his calm voice somehow drowning out the chatter and arguing that swamped the Hall. "The action figures remain where they are. In fact, none of them are to leave the Great Hall until they have cleaned up the mess they have caused."

"What?" protested a Sora figure, looking horrified.

"All students, please return to your dormitories," Dumbledore went on, stroking the stunned Unicron in his arms like a cat. "Professor Draconis, to my office please. Miss Wall, the next time you and your friends organize a meeting of your club, I would appreciate it if you discussed a means to keep the figures under control, or -- I regret to say -- we will be forced to ban them from the school."

"Yes sir," I mumbled, feeling my face flush.

"Thank you." And Dumbledore strolled off, still cradling Unicron, Draconis slinking after him like a whipped puppy.

I climbed out from under the table and went over to Charity, who was setting Artoo and the stormtroopers onto a table. She jerked up and backed away as I approached.

"I was just..." she said quickly.

"Thanks," I interrupted. "I appreciate it."

She stammered a bit, then shrugged. "They're kinda cute."

"Until you get to know them better," I replied. "Oh, if you wanna borrow my books on these guys, go ahead and ask. I won't mind."

She mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "Thank you" before hurrying off.

As Jacob, Melody, the twins, and I left the Great Hall, eager to change our clothes and clean off, I figured we could safely rule out Charity Nigellus as a suspect. Someone that fond of the action figures wouldn't want to see their owners hurt, right?


	20. I Got Friends In Low Places

**Chapter 20 -- I Got Friends In Low Places...**

I never thought there would come a day when the entire Room of Requirement would go dead silent, action figures included... but as Artemis and Charity entered the room the Sunday after Valentine's Day, it happened. One minute the room was alive with chatter, laughter, and the screams of a luckless orc as two stormtroopers chased him around in an attempt to arrest him for stealing their weapons; the next minute, the only sound present was that of the momentarily-forgotten iBatman Begins/i DVD playing in the fireplace. All eyes were on the door... and the two robed figures standing there, one with curly red hair and freckles and the other with icy blond hair and an unusually large nose.

"Um... hi?" ventured Artemis, waving shyly.

"Are those stormtroopers?" asked Charity, bending down to poke the two stormtroopers. They backed away, startled, and their orc quarry took advantage of the distraction to scurry away.

"Well, they sure aren't house-elves," Jacob muttered. "What are you doing here, Charity?"

She gave him a disdainful look. "The Mudblood -- sorry, Emily invited me."

Jacob and Melody both looked at me as if I was insane. "What??"

"Hey, she's harmless," I defended. "She likes the figures. And the figures like her. That's saying something right there."

"Are you mental?" demanded Demeter. "She's a Slytherin, she'll be a double-agent..."

"Not all Slytherins are double-agents," Clay said coldly, glancing meaningfully my way.

"Don't you have Slytherins here?" Artemis pointed out, gesturing toward me, Melody, and Jacob.

"Em's a cool Sith-erin," Jonathan pointed out. "So's Mel and Jacob. Charity's one of THEM." He said "them" as if it were a disgusting swear word.

Charity glowered at Jonathan with enough venom to make the Strong Bad figure on his shoulder bristle and mutter angrily. "So how is it that it's horrible that Slytherins prefer not to mingle with half-bloods or Muggle-borns, but it's okay for you geeks to ostracize us? What makes you think that you're any better than me? Because having Muggle blood or consorting with those of Muggle descent makes you special?"

Jonathan's mouth fell open, as if he had never pondered this before. To be honest, neither had I. I'd been so torqued at the Sith-erins for treating me like trash-compactor slime that I hadn't stopped to think that prejudice runs both ways.

"My parents are completely anti-Muggle," Charity went on. "When Muggles moved into the manor next to ours, they built an eight-foot wall around our land and forbade me to go past it. When there was a mix-up in the Floo network and our fireplace started picking up Muggle TV channels, my dad had every fireplace and chimney in our house ripped out and replaced. And because the nearest wizarding family lived over a hundred miles away, I had no friends growing up except the house elves and my pet hippogriff Canterclaw. It's not like I HATE Muggles -- I don't understand them and I think they're weird, but I don't hate them." She pointed at me. "I thought Emily was strange when I first met her, but then I started reading her books while she wasn't looking, talking to her figures when they came to life, and I realized that Muggles aren't so strange after all. They've had to adapt in a lot of ways, since they don't have magic... but they're really rather clever, with all the ways they've found to work around their lack of magic."

Was that a compliment from one of the Evil Duo I'd heard?

"But then when I try to hang out with the Muggle-borns, I get told that I can't because of who I am -- a pureblood, a Slytherin, the daughter of Muggle-haters. And how is that any better than families like the Macnairs and the Malfoys snubbing half-bloods and Muggle-borns? What makes hating Muggle-borns horrible but hating pureblood wizards okay? How are any of you better than I am?"

Club members began turning various shades of red or pink and looking at their feet, mumbling excuses or halfhearted apologies. My own face heated up -- I was just as guilty as the rest of the club...

Fred finally broke the silence, walking up to Charity and slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Chin up, Charrie, we don't hate you. Em here's proven to us that not all Slytherins are snakes. Maybe you'll be another exception to the rule, what?"

"Give us another chance and we'll be happy to give you another one in return, deal?" George added.

Charity's glare softened. "You mean it?"

"We mean it, Charity," I told her, extending a hand. "I apologize for your treatment so far. If you'll ignore this lousy first impression of the Geek Club, we'll start over, okay?"

"Okay..." she said unsurely.

"Excellent." When she didn't offer her hand I grabbed it myself and shook it. "Charity, Artemis, welcome to the club! Ever seen Batman? Well, I'm pretty sure you haven't, Charity, so it'll be new for you..."

"Batman?" Charity gave the screen a weird look. "An Animagus who becomes a bat?"

"No, he..." I started to explain, then turned to Jacob. "Hey Jake, why's he called Batman anyway?"

"It's a long story..." Jacob explained, and pulled Charity aside to give her the rundown.

Artemis, meanwhile, was sitting at a table watching a gaggle of action figures playing a round of Texas Hold 'Em. She kept asking questions throughout their game, inquiring about the rules and such, and for the most part the action figures were answering politely... except Megatron, who looked as if he would have liked to use his arm cannon on her were it not for the Hulk sitting on his arm to keep him from raising the weapon.

Jango climbed down from my hat and onto my shoulder. "All's well that ends well?"

"It's not over yet," I replied. "We still haven't uncovered our vandal."

"True," Jango replied. "But at least you can rule out a couple of suspects."

"I sure hope so. I'd hate to think we just let our mortal enemy join our numbers..."

"For Force's sake, girl, don't be so paranoid!"

"Hey, just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me."

"True..."

_Break..._

February passed quickly into March, and the snow piled up around Hogwarts finally began to vanish. Hagrid could now be seen puttering around the grounds, Fang trotting along on one side and Unicron dashing after him on the other. Professor Sprout, too, bustled about tending to the various magical plants that grew around the school, and it wasn't uncommon for her to come bursting into class a few minutes late with leaves in her hair or a bowtruckle still clinging like a burr to her robe sleeve. And my Wookie and Ewok figures spent hardly any time indoors, instead claiming the "jungle" of the castle grounds as their turf and viciously defending their chosen bushes and flower beds from intruders. Both Mrs. Norris and Sydney had been driven away from the hedges on the north side of the school several times already, Sydney muttering something about why the heck had they designed the Ewoks to look like little rodents anyway.

After his meeting with Dumbledore on Valentine's Day, I wondered if Ethan would be a bit more subdued in his behavior toward the students. No such luck -- he remained as random and unpredictable as ever, leaping down from stairwells or bursting out from behind statues and paintings to "test students' reflexes," flicking fireballs at Professor Snape as he walked by, waking up the entire school at six in the morning to play a reville on his bagpipes. I wasn't disappointed by this -- it wouldn't be Ethan if he weren't as batty as a pit droid on caffeinated fuel -- but I WAS curious as to what exactly was going on between him and Dumbledore.

I got an unexpected answer to that in Herbology, of all places.

"What's Professor Draconis doing in here?" demanded Luther, glowering as Ethan sauntered into the greenhouse. "He can leave his freak show for Dark Arts class, now he has to take over Herbology too?"

"Professor Sprout's laid up a bit, kids," Ethan explained, flicking a tiny fireball Luther's way and making him jump. "Dumbledore's asked that I substitute for her class for a few days, at least until they've got her bones mended again..."

"Bones mended?" I asked, a little startled.

Melody shrugged. "Rumor has it that she went out to investigate bite marks on the Whomping Willow, and it walloped her when she poked it somewhere sensitive."

"What's a Whomping Willow?" I asked.

Luther groaned. "Typical ignorant Mudblood..."

"Sprout's asked me to teach you kids about gillyweed today," Ethan went on, interrupting Luther. "And she says she marked it here somewhere..." He shoved a few pots around, muttering to himself. "Not the one, too spiky... ouch! Give me my watch back, you overgrown son of a dandelion... argh!" He slapped a ferny-looking plant that shrieked and cowered like a whipped puppy. "Bah, forget it." He turned back to the class, holding his rescued watch between a thumb and forefinger as if it were contaminated. "Gillyweed's a plant that grows in the Meditteranean and tastes like squid tentacles. Oh, and you can breathe underwater for a limited time after eating it. There, lesson over, class dismissed. Hope you all took notes."

Most of the class whooped and charged out of the greenhouse. Luther looked disgusted, but he booked it pretty quick when Ethan raised an eye ridge at him and grinned wickedly. I stayed behind to hunt down Jango -- the dang hunter had taken off to explore the "jungle" that was Hogwarts' greenhouses while I'd been distracted.

"Jango," I hissed, peering under a table. Nothing down here but bags of fertilizer and some ordinary gardening tools. "Get your plastic butt out here."

"Go away," came the reply from underneath an empty, overturned plant pot.

"Don't mouth off to me..." I ordered, lifting the pot... and promptly clapping it back down again. "Never mind, go back to what you were doing."

"No, I'm coming out," Jango grumbled, and with a blast of some sort of grenade a "doorway" opened up in the side for him to exit. "You completely killed the mood."

"I take it your boss can't handle a little kissing?" the Lara Croft figure said with a sly grin, stepping out after him.

"She's still at the 'physical affection is gross' stage," Jango explained. "Give her a few years, and it'll be all she thinks about."

"Jango!"

"Am I not right, Emily?"

Before he could go any further, the doors to the greenhouse flew open, and Snape strode in, a sneer fixed on his hideous mug as he glared at Ethan. "So, taking over for other teachers now, are we?"

"Just a substitute for today," Ethan replied, picking up a pot containing a glowing blue flower and admiring it, not even bothering to look at the Potions Master.

I remained under the table, hoping they wouldn't notice me.

"I'm rather surprised, Draconis, that they allowed you to substitute in the Herbology class, of all places," Snape said coldy. "Rather surprised indeed."

Ethan shrugged, still admiring the flower. "Not a bad hand with Herbology, really. Not my specialty, must admit, but I did okay enough with plants. Now my grandpa, he was the Herbologist. Even worked at the Salem Academy for awhile undercover as a Professor of Botany, but had to quit in the middle of a semester when a student almost blew his cover by stepping on his wing..."

"Ah yes, the venerable Ephraim Draconis," Snape drawled. "Such a brilliant mind... such a tragedy, too, that certain crimes were traced back to him. One must wonder how it feels to have a family tree with cankered roots..."

"It wasn't a crime," Ethan snarled, his pleasant demeanor gone, and he set the flowerpot down to glare at Snape. "It was a horrible accident. He had no idea that his experiment would get so out of hand..."

"It wasn't just Muggles that died at Salem, Draconis," Snape said in an oily, dangerous voice. "True witches and wizards, too. And had Ephraim still been alive when his dirty little secret was uncovered, he'd be moldering away in Azkaban for the rest of his days. And seeing as your kind are rather long-lived... that would be a lot of days."

"And you don't think Grandpa was sorry for it?" Ethan was practically snarling now, and smoke was drifting from his mouth as he talked. "Damn right he was! He destroyed his workshop and every scrap of his life's work when he realized the damage was done, for fear he'd create something worse the next time! He charged my father to watch over the descendents of those he'd accidentally killed and told him to keep them safe! And it's a charge I've taken up in my own father's stead!"

Snape gave a cold chuckle. "You've been doing a poor job of it, I think. If you were truly watching over those descendents, you would be in America doing so right now..."

There was a smash and jingle of breaking glass, and a Naboo fighter burst through the broken pane and into the greenhouse, a gummi ship and a blue Seeker hot on its thrusters. Ethan opened his overcoat and allowed the Naboo fighter to dive into an inside pocket for refuge. The other two ships circled Ethan for a moment like hawks trying to flush out a rabbit, but a burst of fire from his nostrils sent them after Snape instead. The Potions Master flung his arms over his head and ran out the door, but not before giving Ethan a nasty look that plainly said that he hadn't seen the last of him.

Ethan sighed, pulled the Naboo fighter out of his pocket, and cupped it in one hand, stroking the cockpit with his other hand as if petting a tame bird. "Silly Snape," he said in a tired voice. "Of course I'm still watching over them. It's just that some of them don't like to stay put -- they move, they find new homes, they put down roots somewhere else. Makes more sense to move with 'em, don't it?"

And he walked out of the greenhouse, leaving me beneath the table with a LOT to ponder.

_Break..._

"You're KIDDING!" shouted Jacob, gaping at me.

"I wouldn't kid about this," I retorted.

"Okay, then THEY'RE kidding," Jacob insisted.

"Unless Ethan and Snape made the whole thing up on the fly, it's true," I told him. "And I dunno if Snape's got that much imagination, honestly."

Melody, Jacob, Fred, George, Unicron, and I were gathered in the Hogwarts kitchens, sitting in front of the fireplace and snacking on the plates the house-elves kept foisting on us. I had to admit that I liked the house-elves -- they reminded me of younger Yodas, though I wasn't sure I wanted to see a Yoda of any age in a tea-towel toga. And they seemed eager to please anyone who snuck into the kitchens, scurrying to load them down with as much food as they could carry. They even plied Unicron with as much food as he could eat... which was turning out to be a LOT.

"So let me get this straight," Fred asked, his words muffled a bit by a mouthful of sausage. "Professor Draconis' granddad created the Lunatas mold that drove a bunch of Muggles howling mad, which caused the Salem Witch Trials that killed one of your ancestors."

"Right," I replied.

"So what you're saying is we've got a Dragonkin teacher because he's holding to his granddad's promise of watching over the families of those killed in the Trials, and since your dad dragged your entire family to England, he felt obligated to follow," George added, tossing a chunk of fudge at Unicron as if throwing tidbits to a dog.

"Something like that."

George laughed. "I knew it. Dragonkin are mental."

"Is it mental to want to do something to atone for his granddad's mistake?" Melody asked, scowling.

"Come on, it's been almost four hundred years," protested Fred. "It's over and done with, old history."

"Yeah, and no offense meant to Emily, but she's just one kid," George added. "I'm sure there's loads more descendents he should be looking after..."

"Unless he's got other family watching over the others," Jacob theorized. "I hear Dragonkin have pretty big family groups. He could have siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all picking a family and keeping an eye on them."

"Still, you've got to admit it's just a bit creepy," Fred pointed out.

I wasn't sure whether to agree with him or not. Having had awhile to recover from this, the second shock in a few months, I found myself divided on the issue. On the one hand, knowing that Ethan took such a personal interest in me WAS kind of weird, especially since until just after Christmas I hadn't even known I had witches in the family, let alone one who died during the witch hunts. On the other hand, though... it wasn't like it was Snape who'd sworn to look after me, right? If I had to have a teacher feeling obligated to look after my general health and welfare, at least it was a teacher I was somewhat fond of.

"Think Dumbledore knows about this?" asked Melody.

"That would explain why Dumbledore keeps dragging him into his office," I replied, picking up a biscuit and tossing it at Unicron like an edible Frisbee. "Either making sure he's doing his job, or telling him to not use his promise as an excuse to play favorites."

"I'm guessing it'll be the second one," Jacob put in. "Because if you're here, he almost doesn't have to do his job. I mean, Hogwarts has so many magical charms on it that it's probably one of the safest places in England. What could attack a student in Hogwarts?"

"The bloke who attacked Artemis, mate," Fred reminded him, rapping his knuckles against his skull as if listening for a hollow sound. "And the tree that hit Em at the Christmas masquerade."

"Though that sounds like an inside job to me, not someone outside the school," George pointed out.

The attacker... that thought made me quit speculating about Draconis in a hurry. We still hadn't found out who they were... only who they WEREN'T. And while it was a relief to know certain people weren't targeting me, I still had a whole school of suspects to go through...

I glared at Unicron, who was just finishing up the biscuit I'd tossed him. "Sure wish you could talk."

"That's right, he saw whoever it was," Melody realized. "He'd recognize them."

"Hey, you think Hagrid and Chisulo would let us borrow him?" Jacob asked, an eager note to his voice. "He can let us know when he sees the culprit!"

"What if the culprit was Imperius-cursed?" I asked. "Then we're still back to square one."

"It's an idea," Melody protested. "Let's give it a shot."

I sighed, not exactly thrilled with the idea of a voracious little robot-devil following me around. "Fine. Unicron, you'll be hanging out with me for awhile. Whaddaya say?"

Unicron pondered that, shrugged, and grabbed a sausage off the nearest plate to munch on.

"I'm not thrilled with it either, but it'll be temporary," I assured him. "I just need you to let me know if you see whoever pushed the Christmas tree over during the masquerade. But do it subtly, okay?"

He gave me a look that I interpreted as "I'm a planet destroyer, I don't do subtle."

"I'll write Dad and ask him to make you a batch of his double-chocolate brownies if you do it, okay?"

Unicron considered, then nodded and extended a hand. I took it between a thumb and forefinger and shook it. We had a deal.

"Oh, this'll be insane," Fred cackled.

"Indeed," George replied with a grin. "Let us know how it goes."

"I think you'll find out one way or another," I replied.

_Break..._

At first I tried toting Unicron around the school in my bookbag -- he was too big to fit in the pockets on my hat, and Jango refused to be near him anyhow. But when I reached into my bag halfway through Charms to find him gnawing on my copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, _I ordered him to just follow me around for the time being. I got a few stares, but for the most part people ignored (or at least tried to ignore) my tagalong. I guess they figured that if it involved the geek, it was probably best not to get involved.

Charms and Transfiguration went fairly normally. Flitwick was a good enough sport to shake Unicron's hand and welcome him to the classroom before going on with the lesson, while McGonagall merely commented that if all the action figures were now this well-behaved, she would begin to think a little more charitably of them. Unicron seemed fascinated by the Transfiguration lesson of the day -- turning snails into thimbles -- but otherwise he simply floated in the air behind me, occasionally letting his gaze sweep the room as if making sure our "suspect" wasn't here.

"Looks like a Dark Arts construct to me," Luther muttered.

"You would know," Jacob hissed, prodding his snail with his wand. The snail gave a weird little yelp -- startling since I was pretty sure snails didn't have vocal cords -- and turned into a silver coin. Jacob frowned and kept poking, trying to turn it back.

"What's that supposed to mean, Woodruff?" demanded Luther, looking up from shoving his snail around the desk with his own wand.

"Everyone knows your dad used to be a Death Eater," Jacob continued. "Dunno how he got out of a sentence at Azkaban -- probably paid off the Ministry or something..." His snail hiccuped and turned into a Lego brick as he poked it again.

"Don't. Talk. About. My dad. Like that." Luther punctuated each word with a jab at his snail, until the poor thing was clinging to the edge of the desk, looking as terrified as a snail can manage.

"I'm just stating facts," Jacob replied, tapping the Lego brick again. With a shudder it morphed into a corkscrew. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Ever since you geeks banded together, you've gotten rather cheeky," Luther noted. "Never thought YOU'D grow a backbone, Woodruff..."

"Luther, your snail..." Felicity pointed out.

Luther gave the snail one more poke, sending it toppling over the edge of the desk.

"Luther Macnair, detention," snapped McGonagall, storming forward. "Abusing the subjects is not permitted."

"It's a snail, for Merlin's sake!" protested Luther.

"I don't care if it's a Spotted Horklump!" she retorted angrily. "Detention, and five points from Slytherin! Miss Wall, fetch the snail if you will, or what's left of it..."

Before I could get up from my desk, though, Unicron drifted up from the floor in front of Luther's desk, cupping the snail in his hands. He must have darted down when I wasn't looking and caught it. At least he hadn't eaten the thing...

"Thank you," McGonagall said crisply, plucking the snail out of his hands and bustling away as if addressing action figures were a daily occurence for her. "Return to your work, students."

I waved my wand at my own snail, then frowned as it turned into a thimble with antennae. Was going to have to work at this... but at least I was having better luck than Jacob, who was poking frustratedly at the long-suffering snail on his desk who had just taken on the form of a 20-sided role-playing die.

History of Magic was a bit more entertaining. Then again, I have the feeling that watching paint dry on the walls would be a bit more entertaining than the usual History of Magic class...

Professor Binns was droning on as usual, completely oblivious to the guest to his class and going on about the goblin wars or something to that effect. Most days the class just took naps or stared off into space like zombies, but today people had a distraction in the form of my tagalong. Some kids wadded up pieces of parchment and tossed them at Unicron to fetch -- though more often than not they didn't get their parchment back, as Unicron hadn't mastered the "bring it back in one piece" part of the game of Fetch. Others made a game of tempting him close with a Chocolate Frog or a Cockroach Cluster, then making a grab for him when he accepted the treat. He was too fast for them, however, and every kid wh attempted a capture ended up with just empty hands or teeth marks on their fingers.

"Ah well, can't blame a kid for trying," muttered a Ravenclaw kid, inspecting his finger to make sure Unicron hadn't drawn blood.

"What would you do with him if you caught him anyhow?" asked Melody.

"Dunno," the kid confessed. "It's just for fun anyhow."

Finally the bell rang, and Professor Binns quit talking in mid-sentence to say "Class dismissed" and drift through the blackboard to leave. Unicron watched, impressed, then turned into his usual planet mode and tried to duplicate the move, only to slam into the blackboard. Several kids chuckled as he made his wobbly way back to me. I packed him into my bag with a wince, hoping he hadn't broken anything important -- Chisulo would kill me...

I was a bit nervous about entering Defense Against the Dark Arts that afternoon -- did Ethan know I'd eavesdropped on his conversation with Snape? Would he treat me any different now that I knew?

Looked like I wouldn't find out today. Ethan was asleep at the desk. Not just dozing, either -- his upper body was sprawled across the desk, and a patchwork quilt covered his back and shoulders. Scrawled on the chalkboard was an explanation for the sight -- _Teacher drowsy from spending all night chasing Daleks out of greenhouses. You all get a study hour today. No explosions please._

Study hour, poodoo -- within thirty seconds an Exploding Snap game was in progress in one corner despite the "no explosions" rule, while an impromptu wizard's duel took place in another. (That ended in a hurry when both kids fell over laughing hysterically from Tickling Charms.) Some kids got up and left class altogether, while others just talked, read, or wandered over to watch the Exploding Snap game.

I debated poking Ethan awake to talk to him when I felt a tiny hand pulling insistently at the sleeve of my robe. Glancing down, I saw Unicron gazing at me expectantly.

"What is it?" I asked. "You found our tree-pusher?"

He nodded and pointed.

I let my gaze follow his arm... and burst out laughing. "No way. No way it can be..."

Unicron glared, then pointed insistently.

I just gawked. It wasn't Luther or Felicity who he was accusing -- I could have accepted either of them well enough. This was someone I never would have suspected.


	21. NOTICE

**NOTICE**

I figure I owe this to anyone who's still following this story. I know non-story additions to stories are against FFN rules, but I couldn't think of any other way for this to reach everyone watching this story.

_Blessed Are the Geeks _is now indefinitley on hold. There will be no new updates for some time, possibly ever. I might pick the story up later, but that depends on if my muse returns.

I'm sorry, but I have completely run out of inspiration on this story. If I'm so tired of writing a story that I loathe sitting down to update it, something is very wrong. And the last few chapters have been especially difficult for me.

I'm sure some of you are disappointed. I'm sorry about that. I'm also sure there are a lot of you who are ecstatic that this story is being discontinued and celebrating at your computer screen right now. To you, I say that I write for my OWN pleasure, not anyone else's, so I won't apologize that you didn't enjoy the story.

Also, this is my last foray into the Harry Potter series. The books are fun, but they're so hard to write fanfic for...

Take care, everyone. Perhaps I'll pick this story up again later...


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